Weaving Avalon
by GreenWallsOfArt
Summary: Five years after their first adventure, Myra and Arthur are accidentally plunged ahead into the future Camelot, where a looming danger threatens to tear apart the kingdom, or worse, their friendship.
1. Five Years Later

**Chapter 1: Five Years Later**

It was an apple.

A perfect, round, red apple- falling from the ripe brown branch of a tree above. Sparkling against the sky, unblemished of clouds.

And the stone-hard thump of the tough fruit on Myra's head was enough to knock her out cold.

It was just a tiny blow to her head, but it was suddenly like cold water on her face, bringing her back to the harsh reality of what was at hand, looking down upon the valley of green apple trees and summer warmth.

Myra's blue eyes beheld the procession creeping below the hill she stood on. The great crowd of people dispersed solemnly, circling the lake at the heart of the lush field, trailing little, fluttering showers of flower petals behind each mourner.

It was all coming back, slamming against her mind like a tidal wave, flowing against her toes, and then to her ankles, to her waist….

In seeing this dreamlike place unfold, Myra's heart stopped, witnessing the sun's gentle rays falling upon the young man in the bed adorned with flowers and the tears of the women who had brought him here.

At his side, his hand clutched at a magnificent sword, still stained maroon with horrid memory of battles, not to be soon forgotten. It lay on the bed amidst the glorious lilies, wavering in the sweet breeze, drifting in the smell of apple trees.

"I've been here before," Myra whispered, having realized that she'd spent the last few moments without blinking, or moving her gaze from the crowned man. Almost mechanically, she moved her hand down to pick up the apple that hit her on the head just minutes- hours?- ago. It was warm from having spent such time in the sun, but to Myra's clammy hand, it was a cold, hard rock, weighing her weak arms down slowly, like the way a frayed net begins to fall down when fish fills it up.

"_You know what this is_," a voice said to Myra. "_He's dead, and you can't forget him. You never will. The one who wrought such death to the_ _king will stay_ _with you forever. And so shall _he."

Myra shook her head. "No, it isn't true," she said, her fingers beginning to draw juice from the fruit in her hand. "None of this has happened. It never will. I'll make sure it won't!"

"_You can only do so much, Princess_. _Even with your power to see the future, you will never know what is yet to come. Trying to protect the ones you love with mere power alone is never going to be enough to keep them all safe. Especially the life of your precious king._"

Half of Myra recognized the voice, but it seemed to be caught in a stirring, restless wind, somewhat hushing the cruel, taunting tone she could so clearly hear. But she couldn't bring herself to think of who was invading this horrid mirage of memory and vision. She didn't want to.

And in the instant, Myra's lips parted to pledge something to her mysterious comrade, dead amongst mystical mourners below, bringing the apple higher above her head while her mind seemed to start to reel.

"Long live the king!" she said, her breathing starting to get faster the longer she gazed ahead. "Long live the king! Long live the king!"

The apple was just inches above her, clutched savagely in her curled fingers, making a cold shadow form over her ravaging brain.

"Hail King Arthur!"

With all the energy and might she could muster from the corners of herself, the apple was hurled down into the valley, hurtling towards the flowery bed with incredible velocity, straight for the sparkling crown on her friend's tender head.

The apple fell away from sight…

"Myra, come on, quick!"

Swiftly as a frightened squirrel, Myra whirled around to spot the familiar voice that seared through her like an ice-cold knife. At the same time, it felt as though her body was starting to fall, like a gaping hole was swallowing her whole while the voice put some kind of jolting spell upon her.

"Myra!"

There was the voice again, and halfway through hearing her name being called out, Myra opened her eyes to find herself staring into the face of her good friend, Arthur, her feet roughly tangled in her silken bed sheets.

"Come on, quickly, Myra!" he said, gesturing towards the open doorway. "Merlin's waiting for you in the library. He says he can't wait any more for you to wake up."

Myra, still groggy from her heck-of-a dream, swept her long, brown hair from her face and glanced at the pocket watch sitting on her night table. She reached over, and picked it up, her eyes already beginning to widen in the process. "Um…define 'can't wait any more'?" she wanted to know, glancing between the clock and Arthur.

"The sun has been up for awhile," he explained. "Merlin says it's been at least two and a half hours since it rose, and he needs us both down for lessons right now."

Myra snatched the covers away from herself, racing for her changing screen, where she would dress herself for the day. "Why didn't anyone come to wake me up if this is such a great emergency?" she asked, throwing her nightgown over the side of the screen and rapidly grabbing her clothes from her chair.

"There's no real emergency, Myra," Arthur clarified. "Merlin says he has some news to give you. From the sound of it, it's supposed to be pretty wonderful."

"What sort of news?" Myra inquired, stepping out from behind her screen. She was dressed for her daily magic practice, in a red tunic tied to her waist with a thick brown belt, brown tights, and brown boots that hugged her feet. And as she side-stepped into view, she was tying her nearly waist-length brown hair into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.

"I'm not the one who's supposed to give you the news," Arthur said, holding up his hands. "I'm just the messenger sent up here to wake you up."

"I'm sorry," Myra said, hurrying to straighten herself out one last time before going downstairs. "I was having some pretty real dreams again. Not the good ones, I shall tell you."

Arthur led Myra out of her room, shutting the door behind him. As he looked at his friend, his expression was instantly coldly curious; slightly ill at ease.

"Oh, goodness, Myra," he said, his tone clearly expressing his look. "Did you have a vision in your sleep?"

Myra froze mid-step. Once in a while, an old, haunting vision from years past returned in her sleep, to torment her in silence. As a witch, Myra was gifted with the ability to look into the future, much like her and Arthur's wizard tutor, Merlin. He had taught her that the visions could be changed with time, but nonetheless, this was one vision that Myra feared above all the others she'd ever had. Since that fateful day, five years ago, when the vision first occurred to her, she had sworn to one day relay the news to Arthur. But even now, the idea was dangerous and tragic.

When Myra and Arthur were both twelve years old, Myra learned that she was a descendant of Morgan le Fay, a wicked witch who had been a student of Merlin's, and the half-sister of Arthur, who wanted to rid herself of both the children before their magic could overshadow hers. On the night that she and Arthur defeated her using their combined talents of Myra's magic and the magical sword that made Arthur England's king, Myra had foreseen the death of Arthur, and his kingdom, to the mysterious Battle of Camlann. Merlin had suspected her of not telling the truth about her fateful vision, and still, after all these years, Myra had managed to not utter a word about it. And as long as no one knew about the future, Myra silently pledged to protect Arthur so that his death in the Battle could be bypassed.

At seventeen years old, both Arthur and Myra were still practicing their control over the magic they both awakened. As king, Arthur looked out for the kingdom alongside Merlin and his faithful owl, Archimedes. And as princess, and self-proclaimed guardian to Arthur, Myra was training as future ruler, as well as royal magic-worker. While she toiled to perfect her powers, she was even being taught the arts of self-defense, using her body energy to take down enemies, working as hard as Arthur was to become the legendary hero that Merlin told him he would become.

Finally, Myra returned to reality when Arthur touched her shoulder. "Oh," she gasped, shaking for a moment. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I was pondering this dream, and I think…that it's not such a big deal as this news Merlin apparently has for me. We'll talk sometime about it, but not now." She didn't stop to let Arthur reply to this, as she immediately started bounding down the stairs, with a slightly stunned Arthur following her.

The library was a short walk from Myra's bedchamber, the duo arriving there in the nick of time, before Archimedes appeared outside the door.

He gave Myra an inquiring look, putting his wings on his hips like a disappointed father. "Where have you been at, girl?" he wanted to know, cocking an eyebrow at her.

"Just overslept, that's all," she rapidly replied, following Arthur through the doors.

She didn't see him do so, but Archimedes rolled his eyes at her reply, flapping close behind the two royals. "Merlin's been waiting for a long time, young lady," he said. "He had me look after your little sister, and believe you me, it is not pleasant having a five-year-old child wanting me to play paper dolls with her morning and night."

Myra turned around, and poked her finger at Archimedes teasingly. "When she asks you to play with her, that means she wants you to be her friend," she said sweetly. "And Archimedes, Tabitha's only five years old. You'll like her better when she can actually talk sensible to you in a year or so."

Archimedes didn't answer to that, only flying away to his library perch on top of a book stack. Myra grinned at him, chuckling under her breath. Tabitha had only been a little infant when they first arrived at the castle. But now that she was a little more grown up, she could actually talk a little. However, because she had taken such a liking to Archimedes, she wanted to play with him a lot. And an overbearing, practical mind like his couldn't stand that sort of childish ordeal for very long.

Merlin, who was sitting on the chair at the end of the long table they used to study, looked up at Archimedes' gentle flapping to greet his students.

"Good morning, Myra," he said, smoothing his hair under his long, blue cap. "I suppose you slept well, considering you were late to breakfast."

"Mostly," Myra answered, not daring to elaborate on her nightmare.

Merlin merely nodded, and much to Myra's relief, didn't react beyond that. He gestured towards the two empty chairs on the table, and both his pupils took their seats, opening the books placed conveniently in front of them. Myra was only too happy to oblige, welcoming a distraction from her rough night, even if this was a lesson in politics- her least favorite subject.

What interested Myra most about lessons, wasn't really becoming a true princess to a kingdom, but practicing her magic. She reveled in the adrenaline rush she got when she released the power coming alive from her spells. What powered her even more, was picturing herself one day protecting the kingdom alongside Arthur and his sword, in battles beyond even that of Beowulf, the great epic hero that Merlin had taught them about in their literature lessons. Fighting monsters to such an extent as that thrilled her, and it gave her a huge sense of purpose. She had even developed that mindset that if she didn't have her magic, she didn't know what she would do the rest of her years on Earth.

With these thoughts just barely enveloping her mind, Myra was stopped from peeking into her politics book when Merlin called her and Arthur to attention.

"Before I forget altogether," he began, "I have some rather exciting news regarding your magic education, Myra." When Merlin looked her way, he had that sort of twinkle that his pupils only saw when a grand lesson was learned well. Myra blinked twice at having seen that. It meant something _big _was about to happen.

"I've been teaching you magic myself for over five years as of today," Merlin stated proudly. "And thus, I think it's all the better for you to begin independently studying the subject."

For an instant, Myra was speechless. She had been expecting glorious news to begin with, but something like learning magic spells all by herself?

"Do you mean it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Merlin winked at his student. "You've learned well over the years, Myra. I think that if you can go five years as a good student and prove a responsible witch, then I'm trusting you to learn the art on your own time. At this point, it's perhaps more important that I help teach you to be a princess rather than a witch, with you becoming more of an adult."

Merlin spoke with a serene tranquility, but Myra- she was jumping like a rabbit loaded with boatloads of sugar inside. Learning whatever spells she wanted to? _ Whenever_ she liked? That was like telling her she was being given a formal title of royal guardian in front of the entire kingdom- in front of all England! Her eyes flicked to the tiny shelf stocked with Merlin's books on magic, where she learned the tricks of the trade. Having that corner to herself to learn on her own brought jitters into her legs, and chills to her spine. This was amazing!

"I accept, wholeheartedly!" Myra said, standing up from her chair, and raising her right hand in an oath. "I pledge to take your offer, Merlin, as seriously as you are in teaching Arthur and me how to be good rulers to England. And, if I should break my promise, please, please take me back under your wing."

"Quite a diplomatic answer," Merlin said, gently applauding. "Heavens, Myra, how did you and Arthur grow up so quickly? It's an incredible difference from when you both were still children."

"You've just taught us too well," Myra said, shrugging, while she got back in her seat. "And believe me, Merlin. By the time I'm twenty-seven, I'll be the best witch you've ever seen. I'll see to it, for the sake of Arthur, and this kingdom!"


	2. Independent Study

**Chapter 2: Independent Study**

All through the next lesson, Myra couldn't focus a glance on the politics of raising a kingdom from its knees and up to the sky. Her eyes were constantly flicking, like a bird's head, to the shelf where she was sure she'd be studying after Merlin's daily lectures were over. It was the fluttering in her stomach that really put up the barrier between her and the lesson, because the whole idea of studying magic by herself was exhilarating. The thought alone made her feel very mature, and like a whole other witch.

When Merlin snapped shut his own book, Myra didn't think twice about leaving her seat, bolting for the magic book shelf. She moved so quickly, that both Arthur and Merlin had to blink twice, to be sure they hadn't just seen her vanish altogether. But they both were able to breathe again when they saw her reach to pick a book from the many selections she had. That was a signal for Arthur's very next lesson to begin.

Merlin stood up with his pupil, and clapped his hands, as the sign to begin. At his teacher's clap, Arthur crossed to the other side of the library, and retrieved the sword, propped beauteously against the wall. The minute that his hands touched the handle, the gold seemed to sparkle, igniting with gentle electricity. It was the sword that, five years ago, had chosen Arthur as the king of England, despite that he was a mere squire to his foster father, Sir Ector's knighted son, Kay. It was the holy object that thousands of men from all over the world had come to claim, but in the end, it was only Arthur who could ever gain access to the massive power the sword beheld. And now, it was time to practice his somewhat-limited control over the magic.

Arthur hefted the sword in his hands, but, unlike in the olden days, it didn't almost drag him to the floor. Now the sword could be more smoothly lifted into the air, giving the young king even more of a powerful, regal semblance. All in the castle, especially Merlin and Myra, admired Arthur for the way he had conquered the sword, now having the ability to swing and maneuver the great weapon without too much fumbling. Five years had implanted immense stamina into him, and had almost thoroughly transformed him physically.

Myra watched her best friend, while he clenched the sword in his fists, preparing to unleash a portion of the power. Years of practicing with the heavy weapon had toned his muscles in the slightest, losing the twig-leg nature they had before. He had grown quite a bit, and by now, could reach the branches of the taller trees in the forest just below the castle, matching Myra in height, who had always been tall for her age. The mop of hair on top of his head remained the dirty blonde, falling just right on his forehead in a short fringe. His blue eyes were just as shiny and enthusiastic as they always had been, glinting determinedly in the candlelit lanterns of the library while he brandished the mighty blade. They were pressed into slits while the light came, blazing in the sword's blade like sunlight was smiling onto it. And just like always, the heavenly glow was reflecting off Arthur's face, giving off that angelic energy that seemed to transform him into something more than just a king of England. The effect was even more pungent now that he was older, and in the deepest corner of Myra's mind, she imagined she was staring at a god.

The essence of the sword radiated like fire's heat, creating that sort of tingling atmosphere that Myra could feel when magic was coming to life. And indeed it was, while Arthur's white-knuckled hands held tight to the handle, gently swirling out from the blade in wisps of color and lightning. With each lesson, that part had become a surprise, because there always appeared to be something more to learn about the mysterious sword.

It was routine for Myra to practice her magic against Arthur's blade, but she was too caught up in watching everything unfold on its own. There was something different in the way Arthur handled the sword, swinging it through the air with the finesse of a warrior, but also the grace of a flying swan. And somehow, Myra found that funny, but also sweet. Despite having been king for five years now, Arthur was still a little awkward, mostly in giving orders to messengers and holding court from time to time, ever still adjusting to being a young king. It was wonderful seeing him in such a state of confidence and motivation. To Myra, it was an enormous difference from the boy he was all those years ago, and she was proud of him for having come this far.

In watching this, Myra found it difficult to focus on the text in her book. And even in all her desires to get started, she was having a grand enough time watching her friend wield the sword, the happy energy coming off the silver blade like sunshine.

Suddenly, Myra wasn't so sure she was ready to delve into the pages of magical learning. Such an energetic blaze coming from Arthur's sword had to be tested, and practiced with. As king, it was naturally part of his responsibility to be skilled in sword-fighting, but perhaps now, that sword-fighting was pushed aside by magical manipulation. And what better person to test that kind of power against, than Myra?

While Arthur was practicing the act of allowing some freedom to the sword's power, Myra stepped away from her seat, and after a second of swift thinking, she poised her cupped palms together to hold in her magic, until the opportune moment.

She crept on her toes in between the shelves, and all the while, watched Merlin coaching Arthur and praising him on his work. Myra's magical guardian instincts were starting to kick in, and for a moment, she pretended that she was being watched. If criminals were lurking around the corner, she would have to watch her step, and keep her mind open to any spells she would need to use. Myra grinned while she prepared herself; she loved the feeling of adrenaline starting to gush through her, in preparation to defend herself, or Arthur, against any evildoers. It was something unlike any other, lifting her spirits beyond anything else.

At this point, she was creeping behind a bookshelf just to the right of Arthur. Breathing evenly, she gently jolted her hands, and the spell came to life ever so slightly, like a waking child. She watched her friend with tentative eyes, slimming them just a bit, and with another slow breath, poked her hands out from behind the bookshelf.

A ray of magical, shimmering light shot from her palms, speeding to smack Arthur on the back with its power. And it would have, were it not for the rapid blaze of the silver blade of a sword…

Myra jumped from her hiding place, already in preparation to launch her attack, but all too suddenly, something bright and yellow and electric soared into her view. She was ready to jolt her hands, and unleash the next spell grinding at her skin within her palms, but her head swiveled around on her neck when the scorching, tingling electricity made hard contact with her face, forcing her to a sprawl against the carpeted floor.

The breath briefly knocked from her, Myra took her time getting up from her blow, her brain barely registering anticipation of a next move. The adrenaline still zipped like lightning through her limbs, but her brain seemed to have switched itself off. Her rushing blood in her veins was screaming at her to get back up, but the impressive magic put upon her had stunned her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Arthur's voice asked her, sweetly taunting. "Can't get back up, can you?"

At hearing his voice, Myra's body kicked back to life and she swiped her arm across the carpet, catching Arthur by his foot and he tumbled to the ground in front of her. Seizing the moment, Myra rocketed to her feet and spread her legs apart for good standing.

"You're the one on the ground now!" Myra said, her palm glimmering with sizzling energy. "Come on, Your Majesty. Challenge me with what you've got!"

Arthur looked up at her from his awkward position on the floor, sword still in hand. "I can't fight you when I'm down," he said, almost helplessly. "It wouldn't be the right thing to fight on different levels."

Although Myra was anxious to get rid of her next attack, she couldn't deny the rules that she and Arthur had taught themselves about battling. It was good to add honor to the equation of going about the fighting- by doing so on the same level as your opponent. That way, it was a fair match, and there could be no denying the winner when all was said and fought.

With a half-impressed half-cautious shake of her head, Myra reached out her hand to help Arthur up, but still watching for signs he was going to break into fighting mode once more. Surprising, she thought. He looks as innocent as a tiny kitten.

For a bit of a moment, Myra and Arthur faced each other, each as tense as a stone wall. It was clear their individual weapons were itching to wipe the other out, but neither wanted to move first.

Myra's muscles tightened while she felt the magic brewing beneath her fingertips. Looking deeply into her best friend's eyes, both of which were full of excited fire, she ventured a friendly grin.

"Impressive bluff," she said, flexing her fingertips to gradually increase her power.

"Well, then I guess you're not that bad yourself," Arthur replied, bringing his sword further from his side, and into the air.

Playfully, Myra pressed closer to her opponent, starting to raise her magic-touched hand. "So," she began, "aren't you going to run? Or fight back like the King Arthur I know would?" She stared him down with her hard eyes, pressing him into attacking her.

"Well, I don't plan to beg for mercy too much," the young king said, "but I do love a good winning battle with a good friend!"

Swift as a lion, Arthur pounced on top of Myra, closing in on her with his sword swinging over his head with almost expert precision. Instincts punching in, Myra flung herself out of the way, at the same time taking care not to let her magic fade from her hot hand. Finally, when she was back on her legs, she waited for Arthur to come after her again, letting loose her long-waiting spell.

The blade, however, was already out in front, and Arthur stuck it in front of him like a shield, the magic bouncing off and disintegrating into tiny little sparkling balls, raining down before him in a gentle shower. But he took no pleasure in observing the spectacle. His enemy was confronting him, and he planned to go for the kill.

With a lunge, Arthur plunged forward for Myra, who met him with a blow to his stomach with a powerful kick. She drew back, posing her hands with another magic spell, and this time, leapt at Arthur with her magical hand in front of her. She was able to touch the blade, grabbing onto it with her magic to protect her from bleeding.

"Myra! Get off!" Arthur yelled, shoving the sword away from him in a feeble attempt at brushing her aside. The sharp blade got hot with the power Arthur was pushing into it, but Myra still managed to hold tightly. Taking advantage of Arthur's struggle, she took an even firmer hold of the sword, and with a great feat of strength, thrust her arms over her head, bringing Arthur and the sword with her. In closing her eyes to concentrate over her magic strength, she hadn't seen Arthur come crashing to earth with such impact that he felt for a fraction of a second his heart had stopped!

Myra whirled around to face him, but she stopped short when she noticed Arthur, his chest heaving from the throw. His hair was stuck to his head with perspiration, his cheeks red with the energy coursing through him, now almost gone. The sword was inches from him, unclasped from his fingers.

"Arthur?" Myra asked, relaxing her tense muscles just a bit. She feared for a moment that maybe she had actually hurt him, and that a healing spell would be urgent.

With shaky arms, Arthur raised himself from the floor, not bothering to pick up the sword beside him. He raised his head, taking deep, staggering breaths. Good god, she had rattled him quite well with that fight!

"Truce. Truce, Myra," was all he said, while he stood up. "That was…that was really great. Gosh, your attacks are huge! And…and painful." He put a hand to his stomach, wincing in the process.

Myra put on a sheepish grin, her hands behind her back. "I see. I'm sorry."

"No, no," Arthur said, bending down to fetch the sword. "I like it. Enemies can underestimate you, 'cause they don't know you're a witch, or even a skilled fighter. You can truly surprise people with that."

Myra nodded. "Thank you. After all, it's my duty to keep you safe."

"You mean it's _our _duty to keep _us _safe," Arthur corrected. "You always forget that you're not the only one with a good weapon around here." He gestured with his head to the sword in his hands.

"Nonetheless, that was a glorious victory for both of you," Merlin broke in, applauding generously, although surprising both his students. "Though I'm not exactly one for violence, you both are displaying good skill. And I will admit, I'm proud to see it."

Arthur and Myra turned to Merlin, both of them grinning, despite the sweat staining their foreheads and the raspy air just starting to escape their lungs. They just nodded their heads in unison, and Merlin chuckled.

"Something tells me you won't be at each other's throats for some time," Merlin said, patting Myra and Arthur on their shoulders proudly. "Go on, Myra. Why don't you crack those books open before they collect any more dust?"

Myra breathed deeply and smiled again, before she shook hands in official truce with Arthur, and stepped in the direction of the bookshelf.

Merlin shook his head, adjusting his white hair under his cap. "Aside from you, I've never seen such dedication to one's craft or education before," he noted. "She has a good future ahead of her- as long as she stays under the good side, like you always will, Arthur."

"I'd like nothing more," Arthur said.

"What? Keeping up in your schooling, or watching Myra get a good future of her own?"

"Merlin, Myra's my best friend. I want to help her on her journey to becoming the greatest witch ever, and I would never want her to hurt herself while she's trying so hard."

"It's typical of that girl to lose her head in fighting for what's right," Merlin somberly agreed. "But she holds good intentions in her heart. That's why I trust her to learn more magic on her own, for now."


	3. Finding Time

**Chapter 3: Finding Time**

Even as Myra turned the pages of her magic book, the ringing energy from her practice fight with Arthur was streaming fast, like an excited swarm of butterflies. Now and then her limbs jingled, when she let clear shots of memory come into her mind, and she shivered. Even now, after five years of practicing magic and performing her very best in combat, Myra still got jittery from her fights, absolutely loving the feel of control and victory over everything. It made her feel she was contributing something wonderful to the kingdom, for the good of everyone in it.

Her eyes scanned a spell, but Myra's train of thought turned to the ghosts of years past. If this was her, five years ago as a pathetic twelve-year-old, she wouldn't even be sitting inside a castle, much less reading a book on real magic. On spring days like this one, she would be outside her modest but ragamuffin cottage, picking weeds and then tending to the kitchen stove inside. Soot would coat her face and clothes, the heat of fire forming sweat on her dirty forehead. She would smell the harsh scent of vegetables and boiling water, all in preparation for when her blacksmith father, Amos, would return home.

Because her father was never home, and Tabitha was still an infant, Myra had, for some time, been the mother-figure of her home. Her mother had, unfortunately, died of influenza the winter that Tabitha was born. Myra built herself up for some hard labor after that night, becoming able to do things that not most twelve-year-olds were accustomed to doing. But in the midst of all her hard work and heartfelt drive to keep her family alive, Amos constantly threatened her with death and punishment if she was any ounce of a nuisance. For Amos had something in mind for his family's future.

For years, the miracle of the sword in the stone still haunted England and the rest of the world, and Amos was desperate to bring it to life. After every day of work and toil, he forced Myra out of bed to travel to the center of London to pull the sword from its place. The poor girl shoved and grasped at the sword from all angles, with all that she had, almost breaking bones and infirming herself- but it was all in vain.

Until the day she had seen Arthur himself pull the sword, and unleash the holy power of the miracle, crowning him as king of England.

From that day, Myra, nor Tabitha's, life had ever been the same. It became a series of escapes, discoveries and dangers. Myra not only learned of her magical nature, but also that her long-thought-dead mother was still alive. But her mother was no longer deemed human. She herself was a witch- the wicked sorceress Morgan le Fay, who was plotting to take Arthur's life- and his kingdom and the sword- for her own gains. The night she came to take everything away, Myra had almost lost her friend, her family- even her own sanity- in her quest to defeat her mother for good, and ultimately become the guardian of her precious king.

But on that same evening, Myra's ability to foresee the future almost brought her end before anything was even over. She watched in her mind as she walked alongside a procession of mourning women, through an island forest of apple trees and serene peace. The island, however, was not a place of joy and frolicking through flower fields. It wasn't even a place where sailors came to make port, because there was no civilization; it was cut off from the rest of the world by an aura of tears and memory.

It was the island of Avalon, where somewhere, in the future, the greatest and most wonderful king of all time would be buried- a young hero from a horrible battle that his best friend couldn't save him from.

That vision was Myra's secret. It was a poison that ate more of her heart every day. And it chewed away at her soul the more she pictured Arthur lying still, surrounded by mourners, and in a place that was better off having black clouds and blood-thirsty bats hovering, instead of fluffy doves and apple trees chirping with swallow birds. The island's name alone was enough to make Myra's heart burn with hatred, and her fingernails tore at the pages of her book with the fire burning inside.

The tearing sound was like a knife that slashed through her thoughts, waking Myra from the intense reverie. She blinked a few times, her shoulders dropping with her coming to reality. Her eyes scanned down to the book, noticing with a loud yelp that the page was almost torn halfway across, splitting a drawing and some paragraphs.

In a moment of fluster, Myra peeked behind her to see if Arthur or Merlin had heard her surprised little cry. Relieved, she saw them sitting once more at the table, the magical sword propped up in its proper place in the corner of the library. Merlin was pointing at something in an ancient book, and Arthur nodded his head, his lips making a perfect O shape in understanding the concept. His eyes even opened wide enough to bring light to their bright blue color.

This scene was so normal, like the daily routines going in perfect time in the castle. Myra, however, thought different. In the painful reliving of her vision, she was looking at her two friends with wholly different eyes. They were more than simply friends- they were like precious gems that had to be guarded and taken care of in the best ways humanity could think up. But her eyes found themselves falling onto her best friend, lingering there the longest.

Since Arthur was king, Myra made it her duty to use her magic for protection. It drove her stark raving mad not knowing when the Battle of Camlann- the war that would supposedly kill him- come around. And here she was, sitting around, not doing anything about the problem that practically murdered another part of her soul every minute she thought of it. Of course, mere sitting could only get her so far, as could magic practice. But it wasn't as though she could stop time. Myra wished more than ever that she could, and erase whatever awful thing would bring about this terrible fate.

Time.

Time…

That one lone word somehow sparked a kind of excited rush inside of Myra. Like water gushing across a water wheel, Myra's hands were instantly driven to turn the pages of her book, reading through the various pictures and dense paragraphs talking of magic-working. She didn't absorb too much of what she read, but she stopped at one particular page.

Sticking out from the weak binding, was a slip of parchment. It was dusty and aged, like it had been in there as long as the book was bound. It was a rather wide, and long, piece of paper, so Myra carefully plucked it from between the pages, taking note of what was hidden behind it.

Setting it beside her, Myra locked her eyes on the weathered words, setting her hands on top of each other to get herself comfortable. This was curious. A bookmark in a magic book had to be of some importance to a blossoming witch, especially one of Myra's ambitious nature.

The words on the page seemed to blur together, in the spell of immense wonderment that came over the curious girl. Unlike the other times she read magic books with Merlin, Myra's heart began to throb madly, her body getting hot under her clothes.

But she found, quite shockingly, that she was just absorbing the Latin words of a one spell, tucked between a couple paragraphs. Some were words she had learned before- others weren't. They blurred across her vision bit by bit, seeming to become slower, bolder.

And while her eyes never blinked at the words, the corners of her lips were peeking out in the smallest measurement, in a grin.

A grin.

"This is incredible," was all that she could whisper.

For the second time, Myra read the heading words atop the entire page dedicated to one spell.

"'_The Charm of the Time Equinox,'_" Myra read aloud. "',_the spell that which creates the powerful ability of the wizard to travel through time as one should please. As perhaps one of the simplest time traveling spells to conjure, it takes only the heartfelt willpower of the spell-caster, and some ingredients common to the magic world_.

"'_A sprig of lavender. A leaf of mugwort. A branch of peppermint. A handful of ground sage. A leaf of spearmint."_

There were several more steps to prepare the herbs, by using magic of course, until she read the passage at the bottom

"'_Combine all ingredients in a vial that is small enough for the carrier to keep in their pocket. When chanting the incantation written below, have all members of the traveling party touch the vial, and use all concentration within to summon good power. Time travel is an enormous responsibility to the wizard that casts this spell, and thus it is not wise to throw caution to the wind._

"'_As with most spells of this magnitude, there is a question, for the spell-caster, to be answered along the way. Continue reading to learn about which course of this journey one could be willing to take, for it may mean a great difference between now and then._'"

Myra read the last paragraph atleast five more times before she could give up her lopsided expression. She'd never read about a spell that might require answering a question of some kind. Spells were always known to her as magical journeys, never once riddled with riddles. For a moment, the thought was amusing, forcing a gentle chuckle out of her tight lips.

But as she reread the words, Myra's face altered, her mind starting to race. Merlin had taught her enough philosophy to understand that direction-turning questions shouldn't be taken lightly to heart too often. And apparently, there was more to this spell than just casting an incantation to the air and manipulating supernatural forces. This was more than just words in a book. It was supposed to be the first steps of an adventure.

Taking one corner of the page between her fingers, Myra lifted her hand to turn it over. Her heart was banging inside, the newfound excitement for this new spell creeping through her like a thousand spiders tickling her. A shiver shook her spine, and her hand fell to the desk while the page fluttered down after her fingers. But her stomach dropped, and her skin flared with an icy cold.

It had all happened within a span of five seconds, as she realized the page containing the rest of the information was torn.

Torn entirely from the book.

Her muscles locked, and just as quickly her forehead caught on fire with her disappointment. Myra's head rolled back from the book, and _smack! _into the hard back of the chair, shoving a hoarse yelp from her throat. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, the rest of her not moving at all.

"That's that," she said to herself. "A perfectly good spell ruined, by one stupid page! Wait. Hmm…if that bookmark was placed in front of that one spell, why was it even there? The person who marked it must have known the rest of the spell was missing. Peculiar."

Raising her head back upright, Myra glanced back at the empty spot where the page should be, not knowing whether to close the book or turn back to the previous page. Bits of her excitement still clung to her, telling her to turn back, and not worry. It was supposedly just one question that could be answered in due time. It was the only thing to this spell that she was unsure about.

But Myra wasn't about to let herself be afraid.

Turning back the page, Myra reread the instructions and ingredients again before looking behind her. Merlin was sitting down, but Arthur's seat was empty, his notepad still there with the quill pen in its inkwell. Myra was shocked to find that she had actually jumped slightly when she didn't see her friend there.

"That's how I might see the world," Myra told herself, "if I don't do something to stop the tragedy from occurring. Now."

She didn't watch it happen, but Myra's fingers closed down the pages of the book, slapping the front cover on top with a snap.

"I'm a guardian, and any one guardian must give everything she has to keep her king alive," she stated bravely. "With this spell, I'm going to save Arthur, and make sure the Battle of Camlann sees its losing battle before it ever comes!" 


	4. Myra Casts Her Spell

**Chapter 4: Myra Casts Her Spell**

"Come and challenge me, Your Majesty!"

"I'll pluck your eyes out!"

"Not if I knock the wind from you first!"

Like a tiger, Arthur charged Myra, sword in hand. A devious smile on her face, Myra leapt from Arthur's path, in the meantime shooting a sharp stream at her opponent. Turning on his heel, he jumped in the air in a perfect three-sixty, and brought the blade down to earth!

Had Myra thought to protect herself with another spell, she could have more easily taken the advantage from Arthur. In that instant, while she moved to try and attack him again, the tip of the sword tore through her shirt, shocking Myra so hard for a second that she froze. And Arthur took this savage opportunity to add to his expert move.

Arthur pushed his hand into the move, and the tip of the sword barely touched the tender skin on the small of Myra's back, who stumbled to the ground with a little cry. Her knees met the floor with a jarring thud, but she was unharmed.

Myra turned to look at her conqueror, wincing while she still felt the thorn-like poke from the sword. She couldn't tell if she was bleeding, but the pain was still quite fresh, lingering just a second longer.

Arthur looked down at her, playfully sneering. "Need help?" he asked, almost sounding sincere.

"I would ask for help if I were bleeding to my death, but seeing that I'm still alive…" Myra followed her words by slowly stepping back to her feet, sweeping some loose hair from her damp face.

"So, what do you think?" Arthur wanted to know with a curious shrug. "Good fight, or bad fight?"

Observing the tear in the back of her shirt, Myra just opened her mouth, not quite sure what to say. She truthfully hadn't expected that move, though it was a good one on Arthur's part. It wasn't that often he surprised her, and Myra was half annoyed and half impressed by such a thing.

"Well…my shirt is torn up," was all she answered with. "Wish that hadn't happened."

Arthur's eyes and mouth widened to an O shape, and he bent down to put the sword on the ground beside him. Standing back up, he moved closer towards Myra, his head craning to the side, as if to look behind her. "You need help fixing that?" he asked kindly.

"Oh? Oh, no, thank you, Arthur, but-"

"It's all right. I just want to help-"

"_No_."

Myra flinched, stumbling backward just a step. If her back had burned before, it suddenly flared like a newborn candle. And while she stepped back, Arthur drew his hand- that touched the small of Myra's back- away from her tentatively.

Gently, Myra reached behind her to feel the skin, which was just cut from the sword's point. She felt the slightest bit of warm blood, and it stung a millisecond before she lifted her hand away. The pain slowly began to subside, but the flare from Arthur touching the skin still lingered, like smoke.

A confused streak lit through Myra's mind, wondering why her friend's gentle touch affected the marked skin the way it did. Was it normal for that to happen when a witch's blood was touched by a magical sword? Was it normal _at all_?

"Myra, you need for me to call the tailor?"

Her head shot up when her reverie was broken, but after a moment of slow hesitation, she finally managed to shake her head no.

Arthur gazed with a distorted frown at his best friend, leaning his head forward just a bit, as if peering right through to her mind. "Are you sure you're all right, Myra?" he inquired. "You've been acting a little…oh, I don't know. You've been…quiet, and you looked a little distracted earlier during lessons. Is there…is there something going on you're not telling me about?"

Almost automatically, Myra shook her head again, more vigorously this time. "Oh, no, there's nothing. Nothing. I was, well, I was looking forward too much to this practice, I guess. I mean, you know how I enjoy these little battles. They make me feel like I'm contributing something good to the kingdom, is all."

Arthur nodded, but still looked inquisitively at her. "Mm-hmm. Well, I know you now, Myra. I'm much better at seeing when you're not comfortable about something. But go ahead- correct me if I'm wrong. Has something been going on? Because, you know that we're best friends."

"I do know." Myra recognized immediately that she was trapped. It was true; Arthur did know her better now. Now that they were practicing together every day, they watched each other's emotions and movements, like a sailor watches a brewing maelstrom on the horizon. Hand-to-hand battles were devilish in that way also- how they could very easily reveal inner feelings between fighters. Reading them was easy, but guessing the cause of them could be difficult.

The truth was, she had been thinking about the time-travel spell she found the day before. Her half-anxious half-excited butterflies were keeping her from wholly concentrating on fighting. And while she had tried her hardest to resist those butterflies while magic was flying between her and Arthur, it was like trying to stand against the current of a waterfall. She was itching for the day to be over, to slip into the empty library to begin her journey. She thought it would be no such problem getting past Arthur, but apparently she hadn't considered her face betraying her during battle.

Myra was still, while she mentally shoved aside her excited thoughts. When she was successful, she put on her best lop-sided grin, and tilted her head. "That's an odd thing to state, Arthur," she said. "If perhaps you were anxious for a battle to begin, would you act just a little nervous or excited?" She paused a second to chuckle lightheartedly. "I think you would."

Arthur returned her chuckle, in the meantime reaching back down to retrieve the sword. It glared in the light, like the sun was kissing the blade. "Hmm. I don't think I ever told you that I think you're a strange girl," he remarked with half a frown.

Myra laughed. "It's what they all say about witches like me. I guess you've never heard of one that is only excited about fighting alongside the greatest king she's ever known."

"Yes, you've been saying that for five years." Arthur started to walk towards the corner where he always propped up the sword after battle practice, with Myra close behind him. "To be honest, I don't ever like to stop hearing you say that."

"You don't? Why?"

"I can stay sure that she's always going to be there- to help me, and this kingdom, go on for many more years."

Myra cast her eyes downward. "I hope so," she said. But Arthur couldn't hear her whisper.

Later that night, with her bedchamber door creaking open, Myra put one foot in front of her to test the surroundings. There wasn't another squeak of the floorboards anywhere, and she stepped out her other foot to make her way into the dimness.

Her brown boots were muffled with her extremely careful steps, though they were hot with the perspiration starting to form on her skin. Myra was that determined not to mess up, especially since she knew what would happen if success came to her mission. And if someone tried stopping her, she would fight to go forward.

But first, she would have to fight through the darkness getting to the library. Perhaps if Merlin didn't have eagle eyes for viewing the world, she could have sneaked the ingredients she needed to her bedroom, and do the spell in comfortable privacy.

All the common herbs and objects used in making potions were typically kept in a chest the size of a horse. It was a creation of Merlin's, and while it was rare for him to teach Myra about potions, Myra guessed that she could find what she needed in the massive chest without much trouble.

Whispering a few words, Myra opened her palm and a little flame materialized just above her skin, lighting the space with a bright orange glow. It was warm in the cool air of the castle, momentarily calming Myra's nerves.

A large mahogany door appeared to her right while she walked through the upper halls of the castle. There was no light beneath it.

Myra stopped to observe the intricate patterns adorning the entrance to the king's bedchamber. Above the intertwining jungles of vines, was a beautifully carved crown, in the center of which was engraved a large, royal A.

"A for Arthur," Myra said, half to herself and half to the door. Sweeping aside some stray hair and clearing her throat, she laid her hand affectionately on the lovely letter, feeling the patterns beneath her fingertips. "All right then. I guess that this is it. I'll be going into the future to save you, Arthur. I don't know if I'll be back soon, but, try not to worry too much if you find out about this. I…I'm going to make sure that even…even seventy years from now, you'll still be the wonderful, legendary king that I'll always be best friends with."

Her hand patted the door a few times before she could bring herself to move away from it.

Myra moved stealthily down the stone stairs, going two at a time, feeling much better now that she had said something of a goodbye to Arthur. While she had said a few words to his door, she still had the lingering wish to go inside his room and gently hug him, maybe touch his forehead- to have some kind of physical farewell before departing on this uncertain adventure.

When the doors of the library loomed in front of her, Myra gingerly pulled them open and stepped inside, closing herself in as quietly as she could. In shutting the doors, she proceeded to the magic bookshelf, in the meantime extinguishing her little flame, and lighting a lantern as she went.

In that little corner of the library, she set the lantern on the desk, and searched through the shelf for her book with the bookmark in it. Her fingers finally found the ancient volume, poking her fingertip into the pages to open it up. Setting it on the desk, Myra began to read.

The words fresh in her mind, Myra crossed from that end of the shelf to the other, with the enormous chest taking up almost the entire space. She focused her attention to the lock, with the key inside. She reached to touch it, and was about to take hold, when there was a gentle click, and the key turned itself in the lock. The enormous lid lifted open, and inside, it presented a huge drawer, loaded with labeled bottles containing all kinds of different herbs and preserved objects. The lid opened to a ninety-degree angle, and with another click, the drawer lifted itself up, just like the elevators Merlin had described to her and Arthur once. It continued to rise, while at least twenty or so more rose beneath it, expanding and folding out until the entire chest was converted into a contraption of several stacked shelves, filled with more ingredients. It didn't even look like a chest anymore, just a normal pile of shelves propped against the books.

Myra was dumbfounded briefly by the ingeniousness of this strange machine. She had never imagined something like this ever existing, not even in the future world that Merlin could so vividly describe- which was apparently full of machinery and invention.

But her wonder didn't hold for too long. With the list of needed ingredients in her hand, Myra went through every one- alphabetized on each shelf by name- and gathered what she needed. Carefully holding them in her arms, she tip-toed towards the study table, where she could finally mix together her potion.

When she had set everything- including the lantern and the spell book- on the table, Myra followed the instructions by placing the exact measurements of her ingredients, one by one, into an empty vial from the chest's bottom drawer. With each addition, she pressed it to the bottom of the vial with her finger, starting to smell the potion come together, even when she finally popped a cork into the tiny opening.

_Flap, flap, flap!_

Having immersed herself in her potion-concocting, Myra leapt three feet in the air when she heard the gentle flapping of wings nearby. They sounded close, and gradually growing louder.

Myra's frightened heart raced while she strained to hear if the flapping was coming towards the library door. The closed vial lay cold in her hand, while she slowly began to put away the excess ingredients inside the chest, which closed on its own when she touched the lock.

A mouse popped its head out from under Myra's feet. While she didn't scream, she certainly did yelp, leaping backwards onto the floor with a loud thud, bumping back a few inches into a little table. It toppled on its four legs, finally banging on the floor with its contents tumbling and rolling away.

And over all this noise, she still heard the flapping draw closer…and closer…

"Hmm. Where is that thing of a mouse?" a familiar voice asked the open air. It gasped, the flapping becoming more frantic. "Myra! What are you doing in here?"

Myra glanced upward from where she sat awkwardly on the floor. Above her head, a little brown owl hovered, gazing down at her with shocked, yellow eyes.

"Archimedes!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are _you _doing?"

"I'll ask you that again!" Archimedes retorted, lowering himself to Myra's level. "You're not supposed to be out here at this hour, especially…" He took a look around the library. "What _were _you doing?"

"Late night research," Myra answered automatically.

Archimedes still retained his curious gaze, looking on the brink on being convinced, until his huge eyes locked on Myra's hand.

"What's the use of that vial?" He swooped down further, close to her.

"Nothing. It's part of the-"

"It's a potion!" Archimedes said loudly upon recognizing the contents. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Shh!" Myra snapped, realizing that she was once more trapped. "All right then, Archimedes. I don't want you to tell anyone about this. This is a time-travel spell. I'm going forward into the future to stop something from happening. Because it might mean life or death for Arthur."

"What do you mean?"

"I had a vision a long time ago, and I saw Arthur's death!" she said. "There's going to be a war. And if I don't stop it now before it comes, something terrible will happen to Arthur."

"Didn't Merlin ever tell you?" Archimedes said, sounding panicked, and yet extremely exasperated. "Time travel spells are forbidden, unless a wizard on the same level as Merlin performs it. You can't be doing this now!"

"I am, and I will!" Myra said defiantly.

"I'll get Merlin, then! He'll knock some sense into you, you…you foolish girl!"

"He can't do anything to stop me. I'm going!" Myra was fumbling with the spell book, trying to get to the page that had the incantation on it.

"In that case, I'll get Arthur!" And before Myra could protest, Archimedes was already out of the room, his mad flapping fading down the hall.

Myra was in a flustered panic, for an instant not knowing what to do. This was not at all going how she had planned. Her potion was ready, but the last person she wanted awake was coming down the stairs to stop her. It would be painful trying to resist his begging her not to go, but Myra was firm in sticking to her resolution. She cleared her throat- and her head- opening the spell book to the bookmark, reading once more the incantation.

But wait!

The end of the incantation required the Latin translation of the time period she wished to go to. And she had forgotten the words!

Trying to even her breathing, Myra skimmed through the Latin that Merlin had taught her, rushing to get the words out of her mouth before Arthur could catch her.

But the words couldn't come to her, at least not as fast as she hoped. Myra banged her head against the book in frustration, feeling the throbbing of her tired brain as she strained to think.

"Myra! Don't do it!"

She shot her head up, almost colliding with her best friend's shocked face.

"What's all this?" he wanted to know.

"This has got nothing to do with you, Arthur!" Myra slammed the book on the table. "Go back to bed, and leave this business to me!"

"Whatever business this is, I won't let you do it until you tell me what you're doing!"Arthur replied.

"I have work to do."

"It's not work if you're hiding something. This only proves it! Now please, Myra, tell me what it is!"

A bell rang in Myra's mind as she remembered the words, picking up the vial, and holding it like her life in her hand. She began to speak aloud the words.

"_Nam inpetrata__…"_

"Myra!"

"…_quaero miseris deinceps__…"_

"Please stop this!"

"…_mensi pugnae Camlann_!"

Arthur grabbed the vial, at the same time that Myra finished her chanting.


	5. Camelot

**Chapter 5: Camelot**

A smell like sulfur blemished the air, and a cloud of white smoke started to fill the space around Arthur and Myra. The vial was now glowing a bright neon-yellow, and nearly immediately, Arthur pulled his hand away. The outside of the vial had gone scorching hot, forcing Myra to toss it from hand to hand in trying not to let it drop.

All happening in five seconds, the smoke evaporated, and the sulfur-like smell blew away.

The vial had even stopped glowing, becoming normal again.

When Myra was back in focus from casting the spell, she was taken by an immense shock. And so was Arthur, the both of them glancing about at their surroundings.

They were still in the library, everything seeming exactly the same as when they left it.

"Did it work?" Myra asked herself.

"What just happened?" Arthur wondered aloud, picking up an old book from the study table beside him. He began to examine it, as if he was studying a new type of undiscovered rock.

"Well whatever it is, you weren't supposed to get involved," Myra said, starting to pace around the library. "If I did everything right, I was supposed to go forward in time to something- something important. And, quite frankly, it's nothing of your business."

Arthur looked up at Myra like she had water spurting out of her eye sockets. But then, it gradually started to turn into an expression of wonder. "You mean, you were able to travel through time? Like Merlin can?"

"If the spell was done correctly, yes," Myra replied. "The problem is, I cannot tell if we've actually gone forward, 'cause everything looks just the same."

"This is wonderful," Arthur said, gesturing around the space. "I always wanted to travel to the future, but Merlin told me it was too dangerous. And, now, Myra, you've done it." He paused. "But, what I still don't understand is, _why _are you here?"

"Just hope you won't ever find out," Myra said, plainly. "For now, we should get out of the castle and find out what has changed. That should be a lot more interesting to you." Walking towards the library doors, Myra slipped the vial into her pocket, patting it for good measure.

The two friends walked from the library, both taking careful note of any changes in scenery. Around them, the walls and flags decorating the castle were identical to the present time, speckled with the occasional guard standing erect with a staff. While the two passed them, they bowed low, acknowledging them as "Your Majesty" and "Your Highness" respectfully. Arthur and Myra were too caught up in this new adventure to acknowledge them back.

Finally, they came to the front doors that would lead out to the courtyard. Both friends knew that place better than perhaps any other in the castle, besides the library. It was the battlefield for the showdown where they faced Morgan le Fay, where Myra had collapsed, and had the dreadful vision that was the reason she was here in this time.

Tentatively, Myra pulled the doors apart, letting them swing all the way to the side. On a normal day, she would have been fascinated to watch the sight she spotted. Now, she was absolutely awestruck with wonder.

The courtyard, usually so serene and quiet, was full of soldiers marching in line, out to the town, with villagers walking in and out, their carts clanking of their wares. The sun was shining like a hundred candles on the kingdom, which seemed to be bustling more than it ever did before.

"Look at this," Myra exclaimed gently. "Everything looks the same, and yet, I've never seen the courtyard so full of people running around so crazily. It's like they're preparing for a tournament."

"For all we know, maybe that's it," Arthur added, shrugging.

Myra's eyes zipped all around the surroundings, hearing the loud voices of merchants, the shouting of children in the streets, even the occasional cry of an infant while its mother shopped through the hopping roads. Horses strode from every direction, atop which rode knights and soldiers, who sometimes broke their tough exterior to greet any villager they saw.

This had to be the work of several years' time, Myra guessed. A kingdom didn't get this busy in thirty seconds flat- or as fast as they traveled here. Even as she turned her head to further observe the castle behind them, she saw many stones starting to weather and turn light with age.

Slowly, Myra began to grow nervous. There was no real indication around them as to how many years they had traveled. With such unfamiliar circumstances, she was afraid to find out, and at the same time, anxious- to learn how long she would have in the present until the tragedy would come.

Turning herself around, Myra started towards the castle doors. There was one person she knew who could give any clue about this new year. But wherever she was, she was sure to be close to Archimedes.

"I'm going to find Tabitha," she said, not looking at Arthur.

Before Arthur could ask why, a little beanpole of a man strolled up to the two friends, bowing politely.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," he said. "Pardon my interruption, but I've come to escort you to St. Stephens Cathedral for your congregation at the Round Table."

"Round Table?" Arthur wanted to know.

"Yes, you made a roll-call time for this hour in the afternoon, exactly fifteen past," the messenger said. "Your knights are waiting for you."

"And me?" Myra added, gesturing towards herself.

"No, unfortunately, Princess, it's business only involving your king and his band of knights," the messenger replied. "But your sister has been looking for you everywhere. She says there is someone she wants you to meet."

"What? Who?" Myra asked, suddenly full of nervous butterflies again.

"That is for her to know, and you to find out, Princess Myra," he said. "Run along and find her." He turned back to Arthur, and started to walk with him away from the castle, to a grand, regal-looking cathedral adjacent to the courtyard. Myra and Arthur both blinked twice; they didn't remember there being a cathedral there before.

"Good luck, I guess," Myra said after Arthur.

"You too," he said. "Try and find out what you can. I'll find you again when this is over, all right?"

Myra nodded her head, watching a second longer as Arthur was led away by the messenger. He seemed hesitant to leave, dragging his feet while he walked.

With a deep breath escaping her lips, Myra made a dash for the castle doors, and stepped inside. But even now, she was still jumping inside. She had really done it; they were forward who-knows-how-many years, about to conquer what could destroy the kingdom! Suddenly, Myra felt a rush of heat go to her face, streaking through to her madly-pumping heart, and she briefly smiled.

"All right," she murmured, clenching her fists to keep her feelings at bay. "This is no time for games and excitement. I don't know how much time I have, so I've got to focus." Putting her hand over her heart, she stood erect. She opened her mouth, but then stopped, sighing slightly. "I would pledge my allegiance to you, Arthur, but Tabitha's looking for me."

Relaxing her anxious muscles, Myra started forward, her jogging footsteps gently clopping like horse's hooves on the floor.

"Tabitha? Archimedes?" her voice rang out. "Hello? Anybody in here?"

It was silent for a long time.

"Myra?"

Immediately, Myra snapped her head upward, and cupped her hand around her ear, leaning towards the voice at the top of a nearby stairwell.

"Tabitha!" she answered. "Where are you?"

"Up in your bedroom!" she replied. "I've been wondering where you are!"

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting. Hold on just a moment. I'm coming up."

Myra, however, didn't waste a second. She pounded up the stairs, her footsteps banging through her feet enough so that by the time she got to the door, her bones still rung like a gong.

At the top, she turned the knob and pushed open the door, expecting to see Tabitha waiting for her like a proper lady at the bed.

"Myra!" Out of nowhere, Tabitha charged into her sister, hugging her around her torso so that for a second, Myra couldn't breathe properly. Well, these certainly weren't the arms of a mere five-year-old anymore, that was for sure.

"Um, good to see you," Myra said through a strained voice.

"You have no idea how long I was waiting for you!" Tabitha said, standing back from Myra, whose eyes fell apart when she saw her little sister.

Tabitha looked like she'd gone through a growth spurt; or, at least had been stretched to her height. She looked just inches shorter than her older sister, with her light hair lightly touching her shoulders. She wore a casual dress with a lavender skirt and a neckline just below her sternum, a pair of pure gold slippers clacking on the floor while she started across the room, and then around the corner.

"Come on, Myra!" the little princess said excitedly. "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?" Myra wondered aloud, beginning a slow walk towards Tabitha. She started going at a good stride, but gradually came to a stop when she noticed a young woman taking up the corner of the room that Tabitha stopped at.

At Tabitha's side, was a woman not much older than Myra. She had long, flowing hair the color of ripe oranges, glistening like an angel's does under a halo of light. Her eyes were large and bright, crowning a smile of gleaming teeth and a perfectly pointed nose. She wore a dress that, while not as fancy as some of Myra's clothes, was quite beautiful- made entirely of blue and gold satin, hemmed with delicate lace. Her hair curled behind her neck in a modest bun, held together by a hairnet of spun gold and pearls.

"Myra," Tabitha began, with a gesture towards the woman. "I want you to meet the newest lady to the court…Guinevere."


	6. The New Lady

**Chapter 6: The New Lady**

For a long moment, Myra found- to her great surprise- that it was hard to look away from Guinevere. In all aspects, this new lady was perhaps one of the most beautiful women she had seen yet. Every golden lock on her head was combed perfectly over her head, framing her face as exquisitely as a frame does for the portrait of a queen. Both eyes were full of sunshine, almost sparkling out from the iris and throwing the light elsewhere. Her face was unblemished, with just a touch of rosy warmth on the apples of her cheeks. Even her lips were the perfect shape- not too full, not too thin, and absolutely without any sign of chapped skin.

The simple hairnet with pearls on her head could actually almost be mistaken for a crown...

"Your Highness?" Guinevere asked, her fuchsia lips moving over gleaming teeth.

Something in Myra gently jolted, and she shook her head, straightening her ponytail after some stray hair fell loose.

"Ahem, um, excuse me," Myra said, then starting to fumble with her belt, which had begun to fall down her waist whilst she was under a spell of amazement.

Guinevere held up her hands, as if in apology. "Oh, no, it's all right," she said. Then, she daintily put her hands behind her back, and peered sweetly back at Myra. "It's all the more wonderful that I am, at last, meeting you, my lady. I'm quite new to this kingdom, and, whilst everything is glorious and happy, I apparently find that I've missed something." She casually strode towards Myra, her eyes imploring, like a child does before they ask a question about a secret. "I can't seem to find His Majesty anywhere. Have you seen him?"

For an instant of the moment, Myra was prepared to lie and say she hadn't, in case this lady was in the process of attempting seduction. But somehow she was able to dismiss the notion, and return to more rational reasons.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't be hard saying that, he's at St. Stephen's cathedral. The messenger said something about a meeting for the Round Table."

Guinevere's expression brightened. "The Round Table. Oh, Your Highness, isn't the Round Table simply wonderful? The King created it so that all of the knights in his band shall be seated as equal men- not one over the other. If I may say so, a king such as himself deserves honor beyond even the heavens. Oh, he must have such a kind heart."

"Yes. Yes, he does," Myra mumbled, slightly turned off by Guinevere's excited talk.

"Tell me about the king," Guinevere said, gesturing towards the plush window seat in the corner. "I'd really like to understand what it's like for the royal family- that is, if you do not object."

"Yes, come, Myra!" Tabitha, who for quite some time hadn't been speaking or moving, took Myra by the hand and led her to the window. "Tell her all about the practices you two-"

Myra thrust her finger to her lips, and harshly shushed her sister. Flicking her eyes back to Guinevere, she was relieved to see the lady's expression remaining unchanged. She merely started with Tabitha and Myra to their seats.

While at the window, Guinevere leaned her cheek on her palm, and caught a glimpse outside at the blossoming gardens below the room. "You know, I've seen several kingdoms in my lifetime, but I can safely say that, if Camelot were open to all life and imagination in the world, not even fairies and angels could make this kingdom more beautiful than it is."

"You think so?" Myra cocked an eyebrow at the lady, somewhat intrigued by Guinevere's passionate words.

"Why yes, of course," Guinevere said. "I try hard never to tell lies. And I most certainly wouldn't do so to you, good princess."

Myra wasn't so sure.

"Well, in any case, you're the princess and so you know the king. Please tell me something about him. I'd like to be prepared for the moment that perhaps I shall meet him."

Deliberately, Myra took her time thinking of what attributes to Arthur she could give away to Guinevere. Guinevere seemed a decent woman, but Myra wasn't ready to trust a pretty face around her friend, especially in the times she had landed them in. Maybe it would be Guinevere who could help bring about the Battle. At the same time, the thought was juicy and revolting.

"Well…what do you want to know?" Myra said, stalling the conversation. She prayed that any minute, a messenger would come through the door and tell her that Arthur needed to see her. Surely with the meeting at the Round Table there would be oodles of news to talk about. And maybe even, she could find some way to send him back to the present. The sooner he was out of her way, the more she could accomplish her mission successfully.

Guinevere's expression didn't change. "It's indeed hard to say where to start," she said. "Well, since you know him so well, perhaps you can start with his…heart."

"His…_heart_?" Myra asked, lifting a confused eyebrow.

"Yes, his heart. I want to know what he loves- what he likes to do, what he wants the very most for Camelot. Surely if everyone talks so about him, then I must know the absolute truth. And, who better to tell such truths than his own princess."

Myra may have looked tranquil, but her mind was beginning to race. Guinevere was certainly an interesting woman- with an even more interesting way of saying what she wanted to hear. And now, why did she feel so uncomfortable talking about Arthur to some lady neither of them knew? And…"his own princess"? Somehow the words tasted salty-sweet on her tongue, and she had to lick her lips a few times to swallow it all.

"Well, he certainly does have a good soul," Myra started. "And, I suppose that if there's one thing he really loves, is, to search for new discoveries to be found. He and I have lessons together every day, and truly, he does love to read from the books and see what sorts of things they have to teach him. I guess…I guess he also loves practicing with me. We love to sword-fight and-"

"You sword-fight?" Guinevere said with a gasp. "I've never heard of a princess wielding a weapon before. Such a privilege is unheard of from where I come from." She looked out the window again, exhaling gently. "You truly are an amazing princess."

Myra grinned sheepishly. "Yes, well, thank you."

Guinevere returned the expression, only five times warmer than Myra's. "I realize, of course, that you've barely said a hundred words of the king, but he already sounds wonderful." For several moments, the lady gazed out the window at the surrounding countryside, speckled with summer's fever. Her ever-twinkling eyes were somewhere far off, her lips creeping slowly downward. But then, her eyes were casting themselves downward, looking into her lap.

Myra was momentarily shocked. The earnest and demure Guinevere seemed almost drained of her happy energy.

The silence dragged on, with Guinevere keeping her eyes locked on the shining fabric of her dress. A little breeze was coming in through the window, sweeping away some hair just sticking from the pearly hairnet. But when she looked up, the sun caught her eyes, and for an instant, she resembled a gloomy, but angelic, little girl.

"Um…Guinevere?"

The lady shook for an instant, taking a moment to return herself to her normal state. "Oh. I apologize, Your Highness. I was thinking of something."

"Want to tell me?" Myra wanted to know, the thought of some kind of possible secret crawling through her mind.

Guinevere was silent again, almost not speaking for a full two minutes. And all through that time, her gaze never left the window. Her eyes flicked sometimes between things outside in the courtyard and the gardens, but ultimately, they were like balls stuck inside the sockets of a statue.

The suspense was becoming enough for Myra, who considered touching Guinevere's shoulder to take her out of the hypnotic state she had taken on.

And indeed, her fingers twitched from their place on the window-seat and started towards Guinevere's dress skirt.

Until the lady's legs moved across the seat under the silky dress, and Myra pulled her hand away.

"Once again, Princess, I am sorry for how I am acting," she said. "The least I can say is that I'm simply not feeling like myself all of a sudden. I'm actually feeling quite peculiar, and, I wonder…could you please excuse me? I must be going."

Myra nodded her head, if a little slowly. Guinevere picked up her skirts, and standing up from the window seat, curtsied and stepped towards the door, exiting swiftly.

"A strange person," Myra said to herself. "It can't be any clearer that she's a new lady- excited about meeting the king, and then swooning over him like some old drunk in a tavern. Hmm. Maybe she was- happy as a clam one minute and then about to cry the next. It would most definitely be interesting to see what should happen if she ever did meet Arthur." She paused to exhale a short, unsure laugh.


	7. Bewilderment

**Chapter 7: Bewilderment**

Later that evening, Myra was anticipating some time in which she and Arthur could have a chat. There was much to talk about, as she held a deep mixture of excitement and tension as to what news Arthur would bring about the famous Round Table, and what information she could possibly gather about affairs taking place throughout the kingdom. Especially since meeting Guinevere, Myra was determined to not let any tidbits slip past her. To her, every person around them- with the exception of Merlin, Archimedes, Arthur, and Tabitha- was a suspect, and could not be trusted too easily. Guinevere was a pretty one, and girls with faces like that had to be watched like growing maggots.

With a walk almost too jovial to be a proper princess, Tabitha came into the dining hall, pulling out her chair next to Myra. She sat down, and pulled in her skirts, smoothing them over her legs.

"Sorry I left so soon," she said. "I left to find Arthur and give him some news."

Myra cocked her eyebrow. "Um, well, didn't you know, Tabitha?" He was at a meeting for the Round Table this afternoon."

Now it was Tabitha's turn to make a face. She stared briefly down at her china plate, soon to be piled with food for dinner. "Odd," she stated. "I must have been tutoring with Merlin when Arthur announced he was having one."

"Oh. Merlin's teaching you now, too?"

"Well, of course he is. He's been tutoring me in school for several years now. It's hard to say how many at the minute, actually, 'cause they fly by so quickly!"

Myra didn't reply, not quite knowing what to think. While that was no true indication of what time they had come to, it still made her nervous. With how much physical growth she had seen, it seemed likely that this year could be closer to the present than she thought. Not always good news…

"Well, anyway-" Tabitha's excited voice broke Myra's silent reverie "-Merlin says I'm doing very well with politics and law. Who knows? Maybe instead of a princess, I can defend criminals when they go to court."

"A lawyer?"

"Yes, that's it. I'll ask Merlin about that tomorrow; I think he might like it."

Myra chuckled. Tabitha hadn't changed that much since the present. She wondered for an instant if, perhaps, when her sister was ever queen of England, she would make it a law to have an day off- not just for worship, but for playtime and laughing time and so on. The thought made Myra grin all the way up to her ears.

The both of them looked up however, when the oak doors of the dining room were pulled open, and Arthur, in his red velvet cape and regal crown, stepped through the doorway. With a straight posture, he walked down the steps and made his way to the ornate chair at the head of the table.

"Hello there, Myra, Tabitha," he said, sitting down.

"The same to you," Tabitha replied, grinning sweetly.

Myra cleared her throat, and fidgeted in her seat to make her back look straighter. "So, um, Arthur, how was the meeting?"

Arthur couldn't even open his mouth to speak before some nearby doors opened, and a whole parade of men in starched white shirts came out, holding dome-capped platters of gold and silver. They left trails of wispy steam, stenching the air with dense smells of dinnertime.

Once they'd left, the three royals began to serve themselves, and indeed, they piled their plates high with the scrumptious turkey and vegetables and fruits and pies they'd been given. And with every smell coming together at them like charging bees, the three of them almost forgot their conversation.

As if the food were not enough, Merlin came through the doors, stumbling somewhat on his feet while he came towards his chair. Archimedes flapped quickly behind him, perching on the fancy back of the seat beside his master.

"Oh, Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed, almost dropping his silverware to the floor.

"Yes, yes, hello to all of you!" Merlin said, gesturing with his head at all at the table.

"Why so late?" Myra asked, noting how Merlin hurriedly adjusted his hair under his cap. She put her hand to her mouth to hide a little chuckle at his fumbling.

"I had to spend some extra minutes cleaning up that library," he said, sweeping his hands down his beard as if dusting off a pesky bug. "The more I educate Tabitha, the more difficult it is to keep that library tidy."

"What can I say?" Tabitha said with a helpless shrug. "It's what I do best- learning by doing, not just reading."

"And, heavens," Merlin said, laughing. "The both of you should have been there this afternoon. As it turns out, Tabitha has a rather unexpected talent. And I think you're going to like it too!"

Myra shot up in her chair, almost choking on a mouthful of potatoes. "Tabitha! Are you a witch too?"

Tabitha shook her head. "No." She giggled like a little girl, sweeping her brown bangs from her forehead. "I can sing."

"_Sing_?" Arthur and Myra asked simultaneously.

Tabitha nodded her head enthusiastically, looking between them with a huge grin. "Can I sing something for you now?"

Arthur and Myra looked at each other, both shocked and curious about this surprise. Slowly, they turned back to Tabitha and nodded their heads.

"Stand up, Tabitha," Merlin said. "You'll perform better when you have everyone's attention."

Tabitha gave a bit of a sheepish smile, but she did as she was told. And sitting below her, Myra finally got a view of how big her little sister had grown up to be. And now in the candlelight of the candles and the chandeliers, she looked almost a lady. That thought alone briefly had Myra scared; even in the future, she hadn't expected her little sister to look this way.

Tabitha opened her mouth to start, but she flinched her shoulders with a nervous laugh. For a long moment she was silent, before she relaxed, and was still.

As the silence had dragged on, Myra was tense, awaiting the showcasing of her sister's talent. And as it did, she feared that perhaps Tabitha was too shy about the ordeal to utter a word.

Her lips suddenly parted, and a slow but energetic song started across the room. The voice was so soulful and full of heart, that for an instant, Myra easily mistook the voice for that of a grieving spirit. But when she looked up at her sister- standing tall with her hands at her side, but legs shaking under her skirt- she was mentally shaken. In all truths, never did a voice have such magic, and care, to it. It was as fascinating, and yet as strange, as hearing a toddler sing opera, but also harboring a kind of power that was hard to describe.

In the end, Myra could only wait for Tabitha to sit down, and applaud her.

"Tabitha! Congratulations!" Myra exclaimed. "That was just beautiful! How long have you been able to sing, and haven't told anyone?"

"I just found out today," she answered. "I'm no witch, that's for sure, but I think I might like being able to sing better."

"Still, such talent should not go unnoticed," Merlin stated proudly. "In fact, uh…" He started to twist the end of his beard.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur inquired, leaning towards his tutor.

"Suppose we just leave it at that," Merlin said, after a moment's pause. "Tabitha's talent can grow on its own, and, well, who knows? It's safe to say a voice like that shall garner several admirers."

"Admirers?" Tabitha gasped, her hands still plastered to her sides.

"Someone like you should use that voice to your advantage," Merlin said. "I've seen some men in my lifetime, and they cannot resist a young woman with a charming voice."

Tabitha shook her head in disbelief, in the process, allowing a wide smile to spread on her face. "I guess that fairy tales are real," she said, somewhat naively.

Merlin laughed and shook his head. "Tabitha, child, you are absolutely the embodiment of childish joy," he said. "But don't let this distract you- you still have to learn what it means to be a princess."

"But a princess can sing, can't she?" Tabitha asked, as she turned her palms to the ceiling questioningly.

Archimedes huffed, with a sweep of his feathers. "If the girl goes about twittering like a songbird, there will be no one left in the kingdom for Myra." He paused, taking a moment to look between the two. "And everyone gets tired of singing once in a while, too."

Merlin gave the owl an annoyed frown, grumbling under his breath.

A thought, strangling itself in Myra's brain for the past second, suddenly came to her lips. "Well, Archimedes, what about Arthur?" She turned and gestured towards her best friend beside her. "He also needs someone to, you know, rule alongside him, right?"

Archimedes gave both the royals an unknowing look, and, shrugging his shoulders, ruffled his feathers again. "I've never taken part in matters of romance and love," he answered. "And besides that, Arthur is already king. He doesn't need a dame to hold him back."

"That's quite enough, Archimedes," Merlin said, pushing warning into his tone. His eyes were scrunched at the owl, just a little more than Myra considered necessary.

"What's the matter?" Myra wondered out loud. "It's all right for Archimedes to say what he thinks. Isn't it?"

Merlin snapped his head back to Myra, his expression panicked for a fraction of a second. Immediately, he switched faces, and gazed upon his student with almost forced serenity. "Nothing is wrong with what Archimedes says," he replied, "simply that it's not the right time to be speaking about these things."

Myra was taken aback, and she showed it. "Really? When will it be the right time to talk?" Suddenly, now more than ever, she was eager to get away from the table and converse with Arthur about the day's events. Since Guinevere's unusual exit after their meeting, it seemed as though everyone was anxious about something coming. Coincidentally, Arthur seemed just as curious as she was about this curious thing spreading around.

"I think you'll find out soon enough," Merlin answered, winking at Myra, who was completely unfazed by that gesture of goodwill.

While Tabitha got Merlin talking excitedly about what they would do in lessons the next day, Myra took the advantage of the moment. She stuck her fingers under the table, turning her palms up again, whispering an incantation. After the warmth of magic passed between her hands, Myra turned the paper to her eyes to read the note.

_Arthur,_

_ After dinner, come to my bedroom. It's urgent that we talk about what might be going on. And there, you can tell me what went on at the Round Table meeting. Maybe that ought to give us some clues._

Folding the paper in her hands, she gave Arthur a gentle nudge in his leg, and passed it to him.


	8. Something's Brewing

**Chapter 8: Something's Brewing**

Myra lay on her back on the bed, Arthur slouched over in a plush-seated chair beside it. They were both still, but their minds were racing like lightning. Neither of them could quite swallow everything that they had come across in the past twelve hours.

"To repeat myself, what exactly did you talk about at the Round Table?" Myra said, starting to play with the fraying laces on her boots. "It's been agony not knowing for so long."

"It was maybe the strangest thing I've ever been to," Arthur replied, sweeping his bangs from his forehead, as if in thought. "I sat at the table, and there were, I don't know, at least a hundred men. They were always looking at me, even when I wasn't speaking to them, and- jumping harptoads, Myra, I don't think I knew any one of them. Well, all except for Sir Ector's old friend, Pellinore. And Kay, too."

Myra's head shot up. "Your foster brother, Kay? How is he a knight here? I thought you didn't like him that much."

"I never said that. It's only…I never even _considered _making him a knight of the Round Table. He seemed the kind of man who wanted to go his own way, rather than work for the foster brother he always hated."

"Hmm. The strangeness never ceases, does it?"

"Never." Arthur took his hand from his bangs, and sat up straighter in the chair. "Well, in any case, I actually mentioned that I didn't know what was happening. So, Pellinore told me that it was all about some great feast coming up soon- to celebrate the welcoming of a new lady to the court."

A heart attack would have taken Myra if she hadn't remembered to suck in a big breath.

"A new lady?" she asked, pretending not to know who he was talking about. "Really? I didn't know she was making such a commotion around Camelot."

Arthur laughed a brief second. "That's kind of a beautiful name for the kingdom, isn't it?" he said. "I wonder who came up with it."

Myra made an unsure face, continuing to tear at a fray in her boot laces. "I suppose you can say you'll be hearing it quite a bit at this party," she said. "All the people seem to be saying nothing but wonderful things about the kingdom, from what I hear. I guess you really might be the greatest king that England will ever know."

Arthur hesitated to answer, only grinning and shaking his head modestly. "I've only been in my future for less than a day. I won't know for sure until I've actually done something for it."

"Who knows?" Myra said, talking towards her satin bed sheets. She spoke her next words even more quietly, "Who knows anything?"

For several seconds, Arthur's eyes moved to the ceiling, seeming to observe the ornate woodwork above like heavenly stars were winking down on him. "Lots of the knights were saying that this new lady will be part of a great announcement," he added. "None of them would say what, but apparently, it's going to be very grand."

The words "great announcement" and "grand" stuck to Myra's mind like fresh peanut butter. So Guinevere was even more involved in everything than she thought. Well, whichever announcement it might be, it couldn't mean something grand and wonderful for _everyone_.

Myra stopped playing with her boot, and moved to the split ends on her new braid. She combed her fingertips through the chestnut strands, contemplating what could possibly be happening. Add in the fact that Guinevere was going to make her debut soon enough, and Myra could have torn apart every hair on her head for the sake of not going mad with curiosity.

"So, Myra, what happened to you?" Arthur's imploring voice cracked her thoughts away, and Myra jolted her gaze upward once again.

"Oh, nothing, really- just met up with Tabitha, said hello, exchanged hugs, and, other than that, didn't hear or see much of anyone else." She said all of this much faster than she intended, biting her lip when she was through.

Myra didn't see it, but Arthur gave her a strange expression- one eyebrow cocked high, and lips pursed. "That's surprising," he commented. "I think someone like you would've gone to the library and looked through records and consulted historians until you dropped right down."

"Maybe I should have." Myra shrugged helplessly, nipping thoughtfully at her lip while she tugged at her hair. "The more time we spend here, the more I want to finish my business and get us back home. I get the feeling that something more than this feast of yours is coming." She didn't elaborate further, as it could potentially strike up arguments and dangerous curiosity. And in Myra's book, she was in enough trouble bringing Arthur here; she just prayed he would never find out what was on the way- especially if you-know-who interfered.

Then, three loud knocks on the door jolted Myra's heart out of her throat, and she coughed a few times to relieve her surprise.

With a single bound, she was at the door, hands against the wood.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Good evening, Your Highness," a chirpy, but unsure, voice answered. "Do you mind if I came in to speak with you? I'd like to make a confession."

Myra wasn't sure which came first- the lightning-quick flash of frustration that the lady had come back, or the realization that the person she lastly wanted to see was right outside her door. She didn't dare turn around, for fear that Arthur would be watching her, feebly attempting to answer the door. Instead, she only listened further.

"Your Highness?" Guinevere whispered through the door. "Will you please let me come in? I feel quite awful about leaving you hanging on a sour thread today. It was very quite rude of me, and I should like to make amendments with you quickly."

Aggravated, Myra shook her head, not knowing what to do. For a minute she considered just standing at the door- walking away from it, even- and waiting for Guinevere to abandon any hope of entrance. The idea was tempting, and without even mentally agreeing to it, she was standing still, not breathing too loud so as not to signal her presence.

Seconds- minutes- passed before Myra felt brave enough to utter a breath.

"Myra? Who is it?" Arthur's voice forced Myra to whip her eyes around and look his way. He had turned to lean towards the door, his arms crossed over the back of the chair, and his eyes openly sparking with some anticipation of the unexpected knocker. While something in Myra had expected that reaction, nonetheless, she found it difficult to resist the almost child-like look deep inside the blue of his wide eyes. It started to tear at her heartstrings, the conflict raging like a maelstrom.

And finally, with a shut of her eyes, Myra turned the knob.

"Oh, good to see you, Your Highness." Once more, Guinevere's chirpy voice grated at Myra's ears, as she stepped into the room. "I do apologize if I have come into the middle of…something…"

"No, not at all," Myra replied with a kind grin, despite the irritation just bubbling beneath the mask. Quickly, she reached to take Guinevere's hand to lead her behind the changing screen, where perhaps they could have private conversation about the inopportune time that the lady had come.

But Myra's hand grasped empty air.

"Myra…" She heard Arthur's voice begin the question, but by the time she turned to greet it, her jaw almost dropped to the fancy rug below her feet.

Arthur was slowly standing from his chair, eyes locked on the lady dressed in blue and gold satin. In turn, she was curtsying delicately, the folds of her skirt held at her sides like a swan does when stretching its wings.

"Hello, good lady," he said, bending over in a bow.

"Good evening," Guinevere replied, straightening back up and placing her hands behind her back discreetly.

Arthur peered at her, stepping dangerously close. "Say, I…do I know you from anywhere?" he wanted to know.

Guinevere shook her head. "I don't believe so, sir. It's difficult to say, just the same, whether _I've_ seen _you_ before." She paused a moment to demurely clear her throat. "But am I allowed to assume you are familiar with this kingdom?"

"Yes, very," Arthur answered, seeming to timidly redirect his gaze from Guinevere. In fact, his knees were starting to knock together, like a blacksmith hammering.

Guinevere stepped back a bit, although her eyes became even more fixed upon her acquaintance. "Are you feeling all right, my lord?" she wondered aloud. "Shall I fetch a nurse for you?"

Arthur shook his head, quickly straightening up. He lifted his hand to wipe aside his bangs, and then again to tug at his shirt.

Myra's brain clicked with cheetah speed, and she jumped beside Arthur.

"Actually, my lady," she said with a quick, if barely recognizable, curtsy, "because since you seem to want to chat, why don't you and I go somewhere that we can be alone. You sounded sort of…sorry, at the door, so, suppose we can do that?" She was already preparing to pounce with Arthur to the door, so that she and Guinevere could discuss their problems in private. Or perhaps, taking Guinevere alone outside, and telling her that she was not interested in friendship or giving away royal secrets anymore.

"Actually, Myra, it'd be all right if your lady friend stays here." Arthur was already gesturing for Guinevere to sit down with them.

Good thing he didn't ask for the window seat, Myra thought. Reaching behind her back with a reluctant sigh, she whispered some words, and then pulled her hands out to reveal a newly-conjured chair for their visitor. She pushed it out, silently wishing she could've put some spikes in the cushion. It would be oddly funny to hear what Guinevere's yelp sounded like when she got something stuck in her perfect behind.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she said as Myra passed her the chair.

Arthur readjusted his hands so that they were poised in his lap, instead of on top of his chair. He even swept away his bangs an extra time. "What's your name, good lady?" he wanted to know.

"My name is Lady Guinevere, daughter of King Leodegrance of Carmelide," she said, quite formally. "It's wonderful to meet you." She turned to Myra, eyes full of childish awe. "Your Highness, I don't believe you mentioned you had such a respectable friend."

Myra only shrugged helplessly, while Arthur peered between the two ladies.

"And_ I _don't think you mentioned you knew Lady Guinevere," he said, focusing on Myra in particular. "When exactly did you plan on saying so?"

Swallowing hard, Myra tugged on her belt, but accidentally pulled it hard enough that the rough leather scraped her shirt, right through to her skin. She let out a little cry, feeling the scratch along her ribs.

Almost on instinct, Guinevere shot up from her seat, followed by Arthur. "Your Highness!" Guinevere yelped. "Are you all right? I'll get a nurse for you, straight away-"

"No!"

Guinevere turned back to her, her large eyes almost imploring. Myra stiffened, just realizing how irritated she had sounded. Still, Guinevere rushed to Myra's side and flicked her gaze to the scratch, now a sharp pink against the flesh.

"Come, please," she said. "You should sit down. That looks dreadful."

"It's only a scratch," Myra quickly explained, preparing to whisper a few words; she pointed her finger at the bare skin.

"You mustn't upset yourself like this." Guinevere was already pulling Myra towards the window seat, a flustered Arthur still following them; he was catching up while Myra tried to pull back from Guinevere's grip, reaching for his friend.

"Stop this," Myra pled, her voice increasing in volume.

"You're hurt." Guinevere was not listening, and Myra's increasing irritation with the lady was threatening to rear its ugly head, as well as her plummeting trust in her.

"Let me go."

"My lady…"

"Let me go! _Now_!"

Myra whirled herself around from Guinevere, her hands heating up with angry power. While she turned to release herself, Myra was standing in protection position, hands raised to her waist, both of them hot with magic, and legs spread apart. Her eyes never left Guinevere's, and she kept them locked until the pretty lass got the message.

Guinevere's head then hung low, her chin touching her chest. It was the perfect time for Myra to send a heated response to the disobedience, but even an overly protective soul like hers had to admit it wasn't the best thing to do, even with the words right behind her lips.

Arthur was like a marble statue, until he finally made a step towards Guinevere. He craned his head to peer at her eyes, hidden by her falling hair. And when he had stationed himself like that for a while, she turned to meet them. There they stayed.

Myra stood there watching, inhaling the silence. She was on her feet, waiting for one of them to say something. When there was no action, she had to pinch her fingers around her belt to keep from abruptly escorting Guinevere out of the room. No secrets, no talkbacks- just a simple walk out the door and away from the bedchamber.

And during all this, there was still no movement from Arthur or Guinevere.

By this point, Myra was shaking in her boots to get the two to make some action. And frankly, it annoyed her. They were just staring at each other; enraptured in one another's stares like they hadn't even set sight on them for the last fifteen minutes. Their breathing was slow, their eyes never even blinking.

At last, Myra started towards them, just before she caught Arthur starting to take Guinevere's hand.

"All right, well, I guess this has been a pleasant meeting," she said hurriedly. "Forgive me, my lady Guinevere, but I think that my little mistake has caused too much for tonight. What's say we talk some other time, huh?"

In the doorframe, Guinevere gave the tiniest shrug. "Suppose we can?"

"Oh, most certainly," Myra said, grandly exaggerating her pleasure. "His Majes- I mean, my friend here- would love to meet you again."

"Well, er…good night, then." Guinevere curtsied while she spoke, solemnly turning around to walk down the stairs, her dress trailing out on the steps like a fantasy wedding gown. Myra smirked at a lady of her type having such a dress, but then shut the door.

She was about to stride back to her bed to resume conversation, when she found herself facing Arthur- with a confused, and also irritated, expression.

"What on earth was that all about?" he asked. "How long have you two known each other?"

"Since she came and went like a little fly, while I was merely trying to concentrate on matters," Myra stated surely, finally crawling back onto the bed.

Arthur sat on his chair again, plopping himself down. "Really? She seemed rather nice to me, in fact. Really not 'a little fly' as you seem to put it."

Myra sighed a little bit, and rested her chin in her palms. "I'm not going to argue with you, Arthur, but I simply don't trust her," she said. "She seems kind of flighty, and…overly sensitive. I mean, she was forcing me to the window seat against my will, and she shouldn't have done that when clearly, I was all right."

Arthur sighed back, folding his lips between his teeth. "True, Myra, it was just a scratch, but I'd think that you'd be thankful to her for trying to help. It'd be pretty impressive for a lady to take care of this all herself when she can't at least get a nurse, don't you think?"

Too late, Myra thought. She's got him reeled in already.

"Well, do you suppose now that every woman should learn how to treat a wound? Even if it's superficial?" Myra beamed at Arthur, making her question seem benign.

Arthur shook his head, shrugging just the slightest. "It certainly would be unlike anything I've ever heard of," he said. "And that lady Guinevere fits the mold pretty well."

"Clearly," Myra muttered, turning her eyes helplessly toward the ceiling.

"It'd be nice to see her again at the feast," Arthur said, his eyes starting to gaze away. "Hmm. No doubt about it, whatever announcement she is part of should be exciting."

"No doubt of it," Myra echoed softly.

While Myra simply eyed him, Arthur's own gaze scanned the woodwork on the ceiling. Myra twisted her lips into a strange shape, knowing what her friend was likely fantasizing about. And then without her thinking it, she stood up and tromped to Arthur's chair; he didn't look up at her.

"It's gotten a little late," Myra stated, placing her hands on Arthur's shoulders and hoisting him just off the chair; he gasped softly when she lifted him up. "I think we should be getting to bed. After all- big celebrations to map out, and Round Table meetings to be thinking about. Come on, now." Lots of plans to be made to get home before some snippy little daisy ruins your life, she mentally added.

"Wait, what?" Arthur yelped as he came closer to the door. "This soon, Myra? We only just got started talking."

"Lots to think about, Arthur," she repeated, bidding him good night as she shut the door. And as she closed it, she fought the urge to keep Arthur in the room. Talking and discussing nothing in particular, like old times, was what she loved doing most at this time of the day- but these were not the old times. It was important that she got Arthur back home, and ended this nasty business herself as quickly as was possible.

Taking a breath, Myra started for her changing screen to get into some nightclothes.

But then, a great chill wafted into her, drifting down her throat like icy breath. Myra dismissed the cold at first, but then began to double over as the ice inside her intensified, gripping her like a huge hand, squeezing her, and forcing her to cough out a breath.

By this time Myra was on her knees by the screen, just inches from it. She was only starting to gather what was happening to her, but then the feeling instantly seized her!

A slashing of pain ripped at her mind, so horribly strong that she swung her forehead forward, smacking into the side of the changing screen. Falling onto the floor, images started to swirl through Myra's tingling brain, punching themselves into her mind's eye like charging bulls.

Without even knowing it, Myra fell into her vision, her eyes closing while she grew still.


	9. Foreboding Days

**Chapter 9: Foreboding Days**

It was all like a dream to Myra when she fell into her vision. She felt- as Merlin would probably say- discomboomerated, from falling into something so foggy and unclear.

It was strange. Everything around her was trapped in a hazy gray, along with a wet and misty atmosphere, and Myra instantly feared where she could be. The gloom was overwhelming, almost crying out from within itself how horrible it was to be out here. The air was filled with the crows of eagles, and the whooshing of a cool wind; Myra swiftly covered her arms, and her teeth chattered like castanets. Through the rattling of her jaw, Myra managed to conjure her big red cloak, pulling the billowing hood over her head.

But just when her body started to get warm, something cold seeped into her boots. Shaking, Myra glanced down, and lifted up one foot. She was taken aback when the sole of her boot was wet, covered with white slush. And when she stamped her foot back down, her thoughts were confirmed.

The ground was blanketed with melting snow, blending in almost perfectly with the fog. Of course, little specks of green-brown grass stuck up here and there, but mostly everything was a picture of desolation.

And then, from not too far off, Myra's ears picked up the sounds of human voices. Low, masculine voices spoke to each other in both hushed whispers and loud shouts, mixed with the sounds of footsteps chomping through the snow.

Sweeping her cloak inward, Myra started forward, listening further to the voices. All the while, she wondered what on earth this vision was telling her. She didn't have the best feeling of it of course, because when it was so grim, and voices were yelling so forcibly at one another- that only meant that awful things were taking place.

But, just what exactly?

Just before her, Myra could make out the shapes of forts or buildings stuck inside the fog. Up close, she spotted the individual wisps of mist swirling around them like wandering spirits, making the outside of her cloak moist and damp. But Myra paid no attention to this as she walked faster and faster, her step now hard enough to bring mud beneath the slush.

All around her now, were various tents and flags, all bearing the same bright red and gold. The flags billowed grandly in the breeze, marking where each tent was pitched. Every now and again the flaps of the tent entrances fluttered gently, and so, Myra ran to each one to peek inside. She recognized their colors, for they were the royal colors of the one and only king of England.

Myra didn't know whether to take this campsite- bearing King Arthur's royal colors- as a good sign or a bad sign. She knew that kings set up tents all over for crusades in other countries, but they could also set them up for a battle; Myra gulped as she considered that notion, but wasn't about to let her worries get the best of her.

Finally able to push aside her petty preoccupations, Myra peeked inside each tent she found, but all were empty. She turned up with some piles of swords and shields and other odd sorts of weaponry, and some makeshift beds, but no knights, and especially no Arthur.

Every last tent she looked at seemed the same, and with the voices shifting from low to loud so often, it was hard to tell where she started from. And for some reason, Myra found herself rechecking several of the tents surrounding her. Still absolutely nothing.

At last, Myra just stopped herself and tried to think harder about the situation at hand. She could still hear the voices, so clearly there was no battle taking place; she breathed a huge sigh just thinking that. But she quickly regained that air when she considered the voices being that of a conference- debating the idea of a battle.

The moment that she conceived of the idea, Myra gave up checking every tent and simply headed straight for the voices, resenting not having just done so in the first place. She was now walking so fast that her hood fell from her head, her cloak flying like phoenix wings behind her. The voices were coming closer…and closer…

"Who are you?"

Despite the voices ahead of her, that question- in that voice- sounded as clearly as thunder. Myra immediately halted her step and turned around to hear more of the voice. And when she did, she came face-to-face with another of the tents she saw- right behind her.

If Myra had been excited before, her heartbeat was practically shoving her towards that tent, although with soft footsteps that were muffled by the already-trampled snow. She put up her hood again, and slowly leaned her head against the tent, making sure not to push too hard with her anxious hands.

Within the next minute, Myra expected the voice to come again, and give more away about this particular vision. But, except for the voices still shouting from the other end of the camp, there was nothing more.

But then, there came the sound of muffled groans. The sounds were low, but they indicated enough power and emotion to prompt Myra to step closer to the entrance. Slowly, she started to sweep aside the flaps, expecting a scene to come about at her entrance…but maybe she could speak to Arthur inside, perhaps find out just a tad more…

In the grim dimness of the tent, Myra couldn't make out exact faces, but what she saw was enough to cause her to retreat quickly, and then run away from the camp.

In the far corner of the large tent, it was very dim, but the daylight created silhouettes along the wall. And along that wall, she had seen Arthur, adorned in fine clothes, and the marvelous sword attached to his side. But, in front of him…a slim figure, with long, flowing hair…limbs locked around his body…

…lips blissfully touching onto his…

Myra ducked further away from the tent, replaying that image through her mind, hitting her like the apple from her last vision of Avalon. She couldn't believe it. It was just too impossible.

Here was a campsite- one of potential danger and outrage and God knows what else- and there those two had been again. The battle was to come, and _she _was with him, locking herself to the poor king's body like some grandly-dressed porcelain doll.

Myra grabbed a bunch of the fabric from her cloak, and clenched it tightly in her angry fists. Just when things couldn't get any worse back at the castle, the battle was at hand, and that cheeky, bird-throated, baby-brained girl had the _nerve _to be here with Arthur.

And any lady at the sight of the battlefield, attempting to steal the oblivious king's heart before he was to be killed, had absolutely no right to be in his presence, nor the presence of England- in the presence of the world!

Her face contorted with rage, Myra stomped further away, not quite caring where she went. And all through her rampage through the snow, she could still hear those moans of greedy pleasure coming from Guinevere's mouth, spitting at the ground whenever they played back so maliciously. It took most of her willpower to not march back to the tent and slap that lady into oblivion; such a thought, especially about that conniving wench, was almost pleasurable. Still, Myra kept her mad step across the slushy ground, venting her anger by kicking aside the snow.

But one particular kick she probably made too hard, and she felt a peculiar sensation fly through her body while the grinding in her head came back, slashing hard once again.

And then, Myra was flying through the air without any particular force pushing her up, except for her sudden scream at feeling what she had just seen. The images were pounding at her like a hammer, cracking into her skull…

Until her eyes flashed open. The pain was gone like smoke, giving way to the worried gaze of Arthur.

Arthur?

"Yaah!" Myra cried out, scrambling in her sheets, but then hitting her head on her headboard. She put her hand to her head, and winced dreadfully, slumping back down into the covers while Arthur gently put his hands on her shoulders.

"Jumping harptoads, Myra," he gasped. "What was that?"

"A bad dream," she said quickly, rubbing the sore spot on her head.

Arthur sat down on the bed, his hand still on her shoulder. "A bad dream, really?" he asked. "I've never heard you scream so loudly before. Everyone in the castle could hear you. Even Lady Guinevere came running to help you when we heard you."

"'We'?" Myra said, after giving a severe chomp to her tongue at the sound of Guinevere's name.

"I mean myself, Merlin, Tabitha, and, later on, Guinevere," Arthur answered. "Some of the nurses thought maybe you'd gone stark mad, so Merlin had to come instead and put you in bed. He guessed that maybe you were having a vision." His expression turned foreboding and worried when he said the word.

"What? Really?" Myra said, hoping to soon change the subject. "How could he tell?"

Arthur made a twisted face, but then he laughed a little. "You should have heard the rant he went on," he said. "He said something along the lines of the subconscious being so strong with dreams that not even the body can move, and that because you were still awake during a vision, that you could thrash around and scream, and…and…" Finally, Arthur chuckled loud and clear, in the contagious way that always made Myra start to laugh with him.

"I don't know how on earth he'll make us understand the workings of the mind," Myra lamented. "Especially an extraordinary one like mine."

Arthur shook his head. "I have no idea either," he said. "But anyway, I have to admit that you scared us quite a lot. The way you were going on, it was like something invisible was killing you, and we couldn't see it." He breathed a deep sigh, and exhaled swiftly. "But I'm glad to see you still kicking."

"Literally," said Myra, noting the bump starting to rise on her head.

Arthur laughed, and patted Myra's shoulder. "You can amaze anyone with your endurance," he said. "It's incredible how you can live with these visions and not go crazy from the aftermath of it all."

"Yeah, I know I-" Myra stopped. "Wait. Vision? When did I say that?"

"Fess up, Myra," Arthur said. "Merlin could tell that you were having a vision. He knows as well as any wizard what happens when a young witch like you gets them. Sadly I don't think he could tell what you were seeing, but it must have been something awful."

Myra didn't speak a syllable about her vision to Arthur; it was meant for her eyes and her eyes only.

"Won't you tell me what it was?" Arthur wanted to know. "You've been so secretive since we were brought here. And what with your apparent troubles with Guinevere, I just want to know what's going on in your head."

Like always, Myra was snatched right away by that sweet, imploring look in Arthur's eyes. She felt dreadful about leaving her friend hanging like that, but what would he say upon hearing that she had seen him shoving lips with the lady who was linked to his death in the Battle of Camlann? Heaven knew it would be horrible, and so did Myra. That's why she didn't say anything, only laying back down, and slowly closing her eyes.

She didn't open them for several long moments, only interested in sitting still after all that she saw was yet to come.

Finally, she heard Arthur sigh slightly, and then he massaged her shoulder with his thumb. "All right, well, you rest easy, Myra. But sometime- _sometime_- you should tell me about what's been happening. Because, sooner or later, you'll be our only ticket out of this time. Well, then, I guess you are just that right now. I'm counting on you, as I think you're counting on me."

And with that, he stood up, and left.

Myra rolled over in bed, opening her eyes and gazing at the darkened sky outside. No doubt it was very late at night, and everyone in the castle should be asleep- if it weren't for her vision intruding upon her. While Myra was frustrated that her vision's affects on her had caused such a stir that night, she was still glad to know that at least Arthur had been the first to react to her scream. Nonetheless, she growled when she thought of Guinevere, possibly whimpering and crying gallons of tears by the bedside of her precious princess. The growling grew louder when she remembered the part that Guinevere now played in this whole ordeal with the Battle, and a newfound fury plunged into her.

Only when she took some of her covers in her clenched fists, and slowly shut her eyes, did she exercise some control over these raw emotions. She was glad to have done so, for sleep was also gradually working its way in, enveloping her in a drowsy, pleasant state of mind. Just the soft massaging of the silk was enough to cuddle her in, and before she could think, her breathing became long and deep.

Her room was darkened as a strong breath blew out her bedside candle, the cloudy night showing no moon. She slept dreamlessly, but her vision was enough of a foretelling to know that the next days ahead would not be easy.


	10. The Knights of the Round Table

**Chapter 10: The Knights of the Round Table**

The spell of slumber Myra put herself through that night was enough that she had to be woken up by Arthur yet again the following morning. Myra was slow while she stumbled behind the screen into her clothes, groggy at being risen from such a good sleep. Waiting by the door, Arthur occasionally caught her mumbling to herself- a mixture of yawns and incomprehensible mutters- and he couldn't help but chuckle; he wondered if there would ever come a day when Myra could wake up without him.

At last, when Myra stepped out in her red practice clothes, she and Arthur walked downstairs, busying themselves already with talk of the upcoming Round Table meeting, and who would be in attendance at the feast, which Merlin soon informed them would be the following Saturday. Myra grinned, knowing she would have time to research reversing the potion- which she now kept on a chain around her neck. Arthur half-smiled, as if he wasn't sure to be excited or disappointed that such a grand occasion was that far off.

Counting the days in her head, Myra swiftly calculated her strategy for potion research, and also what she could do to learn more about what was occurring at present time. The first thing she thought of was Arthur's mention of the Round Table, and instantly, she knew what she could do.

"Arthur," she stated confidently, "I would like to accompany you to the Round Table meeting this afternoon at the cathedral."

Arthur peered strangely at her, but after a moment's hesitation, shrugged and nodded at the same time- agreeing as long as she would stay a sane and calm Princess, and respect the knights; Myra reassured him that she wouldn't dream of misbehaving at such a prestigious event, expressing nothing but wholehearted enthusiasm.

The morning passed slowly, with Myra and Arthur diving right into Merlin's lessons. The two students read from books, and broke out the old white magic, but the moment that Merlin dismissed them, Myra bolted for St. Stephen's cathedral, Arthur in tow.

The inside of the cathedral was humongous, covered with ancient inscriptions and mosaic-like paintings. Myra was spellbound by the majesty of the place, watching the sunlight flow through the great colorful windows, and the miscellaneous peasants kneeling before the paintings and statues in solemn prayer.

Before she knew it, Myra was standing before the single largest room in the cathedral. On the wall in front of her, a great flag hung, bearing the coat of arms she had seen embroidered on the flags in her vision- a shield bearing a roaring dragon, with sweeping wings and arrows and olive branches spanning out from the shield. The dragon was half the size of the table laid out in the center of the room however, which looked to be at least fifty yards in diameter, spanning such a wide space that Myra found it hard to imagine how on earth it had gotten in here.

"Gosh, they must have built it all right in here," Myra noted. "That's the grandest table I think I've ever seen."

"The carpenters' guild must have worked day and night on it," Arthur agreed, starting for the seat directly underneath the point of the shield on the flag. Surrounding him, were at least a hundred other spots, all empty, but made the table seem all the more magnificent to Myra, who took her place next to Arthur.

Then, from just down the hall, the low echoes of men's chatter came drifting into the room, bounding between the walls like a choir, but with a hint of edge to it.

"Here come the knights," Arthur said, standing up to greet the men that marched into the room. Each of them wore fine clothing, not quite on the same line as Arthur's, but enough to show they were noblemen. Each one wore a different colored cape, carrying a sword and dagger in scabbards, bringing on an enormously dignified air.

One by one, the knights assembled at the table, but stayed standing until the last one was present. Their eyes, including Myra's, were all turned to Arthur, who raised his hands to greet them, and with a royal grin, sat down, the knights following him. Some of them even nodded their heads to Myra, who returned the gesture respectfully.

Arthur acknowledged his knights once more, his voice starting off as a bit of a nervous mumble, his body inching closer towards his great chair. Myra kept her eyes on him, willing some of her magic into him to boost his confidence. He was clearly still not used to having such attention in so wide a space. She shook her head slightly, wishing she could step up in Arthur's place and help him finish the greetings.

Instead, she tried a different tactic. Looking away to the door, she waved her glowing finger, and conjured some servants, who strode into the room with platters piled in finger foods and decanters of wine. The knights looked on in delight, and Arthur's speech grew louder in the process, seeming to be thankful that all eyes weren't on him anymore.

Finally, when he sat back down, Myra tugged on his arm. "What was the matter?" she asked. "They're not going to bite."

"You forget, Myra, I'm still not used to being the head of something so huge. I mean, you see all these knights looking up to me"- he pointed with his eyes at Pellinore, and another knight with graying hair, both peering admirably at the young king- "it's terrifying."

Myra giggled, rubbing her fingers on Arthur's sleeve affectionately. "Relax, Arthur," she said softly. "Once I get you back home, you won't have to worry about this…yet."

Arthur glared slightly at her as she finished. Myra simply grinned reassuringly, and patted Arthur's arm before she turned around to observe the knight sitting next to her.

This knight was particularly burly, with long bright-red hair, like Guinevere's, with huge excited eyes. He turned to speak to a knight beside him- who had the same facial features, but slightly less of a physique- and then turned with a grunt to his plate.

Myra was looking at him for such a time, that he finally swiveled his head around to meet her gaze.

"I got somethin' on my sleeve, Your Highness?" His voice was low and firm, but also with an excited, interested edge.

"As a matter of fact I was," Myra replied, nodding her head in acknowledgement. "I don't think I've talked to you before, good knight. Can I have your name?"

The knight laughed, as if he was too glad to oblige, and put down his butter knife. "My name is Gawain. _Sir_ Gawain of Orkney, lady. So good t' finally meet the princess face-t'-face."

"The same to you," Myra said. There was a slight pause before she spoke again. "Gee, I didn't know there were so many knights in the Round Table," she whispered.

"Yeah, that's safe t' say," Gawain stated in a kind of thick dialect. "Workin' fer nothin' less than the things that Arthur wants- that's us."

"What sorts of things?"

Gawain patted his finger against the thin red beard on his face. "Arthur's philosophy- gets it from that mysterious tutor o' his, Merlin, I think- is t' fight for righteousness and justice. Says he wants t' bring it t' all corners of England, and beyond. Extraordinary man, Arthur. Quite easy t' respect and all, and 'tis easy t' say tha' everyone in Camelot loves him jest the same."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Myra agreed.

"Gawain, who you talking to?" a voice asked from beside the burly knight. When Myra leaned over to see the source of the voice, she saw another knight with the same interested gaze as Gawain, but with a thinner body and darker hair.

"Ah, Highness," he said, bowing his head at noticing Myra's attentive look. "My name is Gareth, Gawain's little brother."

"And my _best _lil' brother," Gawain said, grabbing Gareth by his neck and ruffling his head of neatly groomed hair. Gareth laughed loudly, finally pushing himself free of his brother's firm grasp.

Gareth straightened himself out, and then elbowed the man beside him- also with the same hard features, but hair so bright it was almost yellow. "Gaheris, come on, now!" Gareth urged. "Turn around and meet Her Highness, the Princess. Come, don't be a daft chicken, you can see her right now!"

At last, the man called Gaheris turned around and slowly made eye contact with Myra. He was not quite the brawn mass that Gawain was, and neither was he youthful like Gareth, but he had a face spotted with freckles, with half-closed eyes, as though he was awakening from a nap. He appeared startled for a second to see Myra, but he relaxed himself and also sent her a wide, toothy smile.

"'Ello, lady," he said, his voice a low baritone.

"Good to meet all of you," Myra stated, extending her hand courteously to each of them.

"Yes, all the Orkney brothers are pleased to meet Her Highness," Gareth said with a swift nod. "You're left to meet just one more."

"Agravaine," Gawain stated.

"Aye, Agravaine," Gaheris echoed. And slowly, he turned to elbow some other knight beside him, but his elbow plunged into thin air, and he almost fell over all the way, if Gareth hadn't caught him by his forearm.

"'E's not 'ere!" Gaheris noted, looking extremely dumbfounded.

Gawain frowned deeply, shaking his head while he looked down at the table. Myra looked on, probably about as confused as Gaheris appeared.

"Is he not here?" she wondered aloud, craning her head to see the cause of the brothers' lost expressions.

Gawain put out his hand to halt Myra in her movement, and she slowly drew back. "Don't worry 'bout Agravaine, Princess," he said. "Lord above knows where that lil' runabout goes these days. Almost ne'er answers t' Arthur's calls fer congregating here at th' Round Table anymore."

"Don' fergit, brother," Gaheris piped up. "'E's prolly with Mordred."

"Ah, Mordred," Gawain and Gareth murmured together.

"Who's Mordred?" Myra scooted her chair closer to Gawain, deeply anticipating a story regarding this stranger.

Gawain frowned even deeper, his eyes sinking deeper into their sockets under his thick eyebrows. "I probably shouldn't be sayin' this 'bout a noble of the court," he began, "but we don' really…get along, well…well, with Mordred, that is. Agravaine has bin hangin' 'round the man, and, well, I can jest say that they are no' the best people t' converse with."

Myra opened her mouth to ask why, when Arthur stood in his chair, and raised his hands to the congregation.

"Right then, good knights," he called lavishly so that his voice carried throughout the huge room. "This has been a wonderful meeting, and it's my best hope that we go forward in peace and chivalric honor." He bowed to the knights, and they stood to bow as well.

While the knights started away from the Round Table, Myra and Arthur lagged behind, Myra whispering a spell to clear away the mess left behind by the quasi-feast.

"Well, I don't think that was half as bad as you obviously expected, Arthur," she said. "The knights are pretty decent people themselves."

"Yes, I noticed you talking to some of them," Arthur noted. "Just who were they?"

As the two friends exited the cathedral, Myra told Arthur every detail she observed about the Orkney brothers, while Arthur listened attentively, chuckling at Gawain's brotherly grapple with Gareth.

"You're right, not a terrible bunch at all," he agreed. "But, who is Mordred? Hmm. Maybe Merlin would know."

Myra shook her head. "I don't know, Arthur. From the sound of it, it probably wouldn't be particularly pleasant to meet up with either him, or Agravaine. If a knight is mostly disliked by another, then maybe he's not that good a person in the first place."

Arthur shrugged simply. "Well, I can't be too sure either. I'm going to try and find out though."

Myra made a lopsided frown at her friend. "Be careful," was all she said.

Arthur snorted softly. "Normally, I thought I'd be saying that to you, Myra. You suppose it could really be that awful?"

"Oh," Myra said, pretending to be surprised. "Maybe I've actually decided to give up throwing myself in danger for you."

They were both quiet, before they both broke into gentle giggles, playfully pushing and punching each others' shoulders, until they'd walked all the way back to the castle courtyard, where, silently watching by the bushes beside the entrance, a snow-skinned man stood- his colorless hair hanging over one eye, the other keenly observing the king. Then it fell upon the smiling princess, and, noticing the gleeful laughter flying from her lips, he also grinned.


	11. The Son of Ban Arrives

**Chapter 11: The Son of Ban Arrives**

Within the next few passing days, Myra and Arthur seemed to finally be settling into life in the future. The two of them still took lessons from Merlin, and Myra shoved forth all her energy into magical dueling, as well as reading furiously in her little library nook. It felt good to be back in the groove of things, but to her, there was still the lingering discomfort and tension of things. Every moment she felt her heart vibrating, alongside the ideas she was learning from her books about sending Arthur back. At times during lessons, she even felt her hand reach to touch the tiny vial on her chest, just beginning to feel the excitement of her progression building; bringing on shivers while thoughts whirled fanatically fast through her.

Everywhere, Myra noticed progress aiming for the celebratory feast fast approaching. The cooks were hardly showing their faces to present their meals to the royals, nor did the servants ever stop to rest once during work. Even Merlin seemed to have caught the pre-feast fever, and was beginning to sneak in etiquette lessons for his students, including Tabitha. Because of all the excitement, Myra noticed the castle also becoming more musical, as Tabitha was locking herself in her room to practice her singing. At every meal, she would talk of nearly nothing else except the pace at which her singing was going.

"I'd like to sing something very special for when the minstrels and entertainers come out for us," she would say, or, "Myra ought to conjure up a giant stage for me to make my debut on before anything even begins," and so it went on. Every word out of her mouth was some far-fetched idea that would always leave the others spitting out their drinks in laughter, although it reminded Myra of how much time she had before Arthur had to be sent back to the present.

Despite Myra's intense dedication to her mission, she still preferred to take a few minutes from her day to relax with Arthur. For a single day since learning the duration of time between now and the feast, she and Arthur had walked outside the castle, even sitting on top of their hill where many precious memories had been preciously created; thus, Myra made sure she cherished the time spent with her best friend, for these moments might become more precious than gold or silver.

But then, after that one day, she was startled to notice that Arthur left early from the library, and was nowhere to be seen every place she looked. Merlin, of course, didn't urge her too much to look for Arthur, but in Myra's state of mind- and that of events- she had a feeling that almost everything her friend encountered could be potentially dangerous, so she left anyway.

After having searched in her own room, Arthur's bedchamber, and Tabitha's, she finally stepped out the castle doors and tromped into the gardens, where at the height of summer, everything was blooming like that of Eden. Myra made her way between the flower clumps, stumbling over vines, before she could reach the back hill.

And there, peeking from behind a rosebush, she abruptly felt her breath get stuck in her throat, watching Arthur standing on the edge of the hill.

Several yards away, Arthur was poised like a brave warrior- straight-backed and tall before the far expanse of green grass, hills, and open sky. And at his side, waving gently in the warm breeze, was a flapping stream of sparkling satin, topped by a wave of bright red hair.

Myra's suspicions were only further set in stone when Arthur stepped to the side and revealed the tall, feminine figure of the lady Guinevere looking out with him to the horizon. She was wearing a gown of bright orange, to match her hair, which was now streaming down her back, and a simple headdress decked with tiny emeralds, sparkling while she turned her face to Arthur. Much to Myra's chagrin, she was smiling like she was seeing her first sight of home after a long journey.

Cupping her hand around her ears, Myra leaned forward to catch the words they said to each other.

"What do you think?" Arthur asked, gesturing out to the enchanting land.

Guinevere shook her head, putting her hands to her mouth, clearly overwhelmed. "I'm…I think…well, to be frank, I'm speechless," she finally sputtered out. "I've never seen a spot of land so beautiful in all of England. I suppose that not even the Lord's garden has something so lavish. Oh, goodness, I wish I could have grown up with something so lovely back in Carmelide."

"Surely it must have been a wonderful place," Arthur said, "for you to have come from there."

Now Guinevere gave him a strange look, squinting her eyes in such a way that she looked just a tad less pretty. "And what indeed, my lord, what makes you say so?" she wanted to know.

It was quiet for a long time, as Arthur stiffened and timidly turned to watch the world turn; a flock of birds flew across the sky, a pair of squirrels chased each other from tree to tree, Myra started to quiver as her legs got tired from keeping still behind the rosebush.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, absentmindedly mussing up his hair, stammering on the first words he tried to say. "Well, it's…it's because…"

Guinevere gently reached to grasp Arthur's fingers, taking them inside her beautifully poised hands. And slowly, his own hand closed around hers, raising it up into the air.

Feeling the butterflies pounding inside, Arthur fully turned his body so that he was looking at Guinevere face-to-face. Looking almost frightened, Guinevere did the same thing, but it was hard to tell if Arthur was looking right into her eyes, as she seemed to be.

"My dear lord, are you all right?" Guinevere's sweet, high voice was so soft, Myra found herself almost creeping from hiding just to hear better. She didn't know that she was coming within viewing range of trouble…

Guinevere leaned closer to Arthur, reaching her other hand to his face with sickening proximity. "I've never seen you look so green in the face before. Perhaps you ought to go back inside before the princess appears here to drag you back."

At that, Arthur pulled back slightly- as Myra was also finding it hard to breathe. "You wouldn't have to worry about Myra," he said. "She always locks herself away in a book, and really, she's pretty lucky if she ever comes out of it. She's truly one of the most dedicated people I know."

"Oh, and you must also mention her strength," Guinevere added. "The way she wrestled her way out my hands was extraordinary! She looked like she was about to take someone's head off their shoulders. Oh, how incredible!"

Arthur chuckled and turned away briefly, instead of adding that it was Guinevere's head Myra had wanted to take off. But he recovered the gaze he held on the lady, even drawing himself closer again.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he whispered softly. "I don't think I finished what I said before."

Guinevere giggled. "I don't even believe you were saying anything," she said. "But by all means, please begin again."

Myra shook her head vigorously, ducking all the way behind the rosebush. "This is ridiculous," she said through gritted teeth. "I should just march right out there and drag him to his senses, like _she _said-"

Then there came a loud, blaring fanfare, ringing throughout the castle grounds with enormous gusto and power, and Arthur, Myra, and Guinevere all gasped at the same time.

"What's that?" Guinevere wondered aloud.

"The fanfare," Arthur noted. "Someone must be arriving here right now."

"But who?" Guinevere's voice had gone from startled to excited.

"We'll find out. Follow me." Arthur started a fast stride away from the hill, Guinevere catching up with an unconscious and dramatic sweep her long dress; Myra blanched before she stood up and followed them towards the front gates of the castle.

When the three of them arrived there, they were greeted by a grand carriage that was pulling up, surrounded by a parade of onlookers and noblemen, looking on with wonder, and some recognition, of the mighty vehicle. It was plain and golden, but clearly held some pretty important people arriving in Camelot.

For several moments, Arthur looked on with awestruck eyes, not knowing whether to be shocked or excited about this mysterious arrival. Both he and Guinevere forgot where they were in sight of the ordeal, but Myra was observing the scene with a keen, aware focus, despite her growing curiosity.

At last, through all the murmuring and chatter from the townspeople, the carriage stopped rolling across the cobblestones, and creaked to a halt at the gates, the horses nickering excitedly while a footman stepped down to open the carriage door...

"Arthur- Your Majesty," a sage old voice said coolly. Turning around, Arthur saw Merlin tromp up beside him and fix him with a firm glance.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, gesturing madly towards the carriage, where the footman's hand was already on the door handle. "Quick! Get to the throne room before your guest gets out of that coach!"

Arthur gasped audibly, his eyes going wide as dinner plates before he whirled around and raced for the doors. "I'm sorry, my lady, excuse me," he said quickly as he threw them open.

"Whoa, Arthur, wait up a minute!" Myra called, racing with Merlin after him; Guinevere blinked a few times to be sure that she didn't just see the princess appear out of nowhere next to her.

Once inside, Arthur sprinted for the throne room along the familiar lavender carpet, stumbling as he went, but made it to the throne, where he began throwing on his royal robe, struggling to put his crown on straight.

Breathless from trying to catch up, Myra stopped, resting her hands on her knees. "What's happening, Arthur?" she panted, as Merlin stopped next to her. "Why…such…the big…hurry?"

Merlin hoisted Myra to good posture again, if a bit harshly. "Have you forgotten, Myra?" he said, looking aghast. "The King of Benwick's son is arriving here- all the way from France, if you could recall that piece of information!"

"All right, Merlin, I honesty do not know what you're talking about," Myra said coldly, not understanding her tutor's indignant speech towards her. "What…is…going on?"

Merlin sighed greatly, thumping his wand in frustration on the floor. "Arthur led England to war a few years back, and the King Ban of Benwick was a key ally in defeating our enemy at Bedegraine. And thus, Arthur has arranged for the King Ban's son to come here to become a knight of his Round Table."

Both Myra and Arthur- who by now had finally managed to straighten out his clothes- gave Merlin the same look as a rabbit gives a hunter when caught in a clearing. "Who?" they asked together.

Merlin's expression deepened even further. "Lancelot du Lac."


	12. Flying Spark

**Chapter 12: Flying Spark**

Several seconds later, Arthur was finally sitting in his throne, while Myra stood right next to him, dressed in a regal red gown; Merlin said she was as much a part of the knighting ceremony as Arthur was, so she had to look like a real princess, and not a cross-dresser. Beside them, Merlin stood like a proud grandfather, Archimedes perched on top of the throne above Arthur, surveying the scene with large, yellow eyes, and Tabitha on the other side of the throne, in a fine dress and her hair done up in garden flowers.

Gradually, noblemen and ladies from all over Camelot started pouring in through the enormous archway. They spread on all sides of the room, having to divide between the stone pillars and candelabras to make enough space. Myra bit her tongue to keep from looking so utterly lost in this crowd, although she was standing apart from them. Arthur seemed to be doing the same when she glimpsed him on the throne, just starting to shake as he held the marvelous sword in his hand like a great scepter.

At last, all the guests stopped coming in, and, with a loud fanfare from the archway, the crowd quieted down as a messenger cleared his throat, pulling apart a long piece of parchment.

"Ladies and gentlemen, noblemen of the chivalric court of His Majesty, King Arthur- we present to you the arrival of the gallant son of King Ban of Benwick of France- Lancelot du Lac!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd of onlookers, who all watched as a young man stepped into view, followed by a tiny troupe of servants. At his arrival, all fell completely silent, watching for the visitor to step inside and make his entrance. Slowly, all heads turned towards the throne where Arthur sat, looking like he wanted anything other than to be there with all eyes on him. But he then stood up, passing the sword to one hand, while he beckoned the young man to come forth; Myra noticed that Merlin was giving the king an urgent eye, as though he had been expecting Arthur to be grander about the event than he was acting.

"Come forth, Lancelot du Lac," Arthur said.

At that, the dark-haired man, in a lovely green tunic and polished boots, began a casual walk down the lavender carpet. He didn't make a show of himself; he simply kept his face on the king, never faltered in his step, and made no point of waving to the breathless crowd.

Myra focused her eyes on this prince-like figure, noting first how modest he seemed about becoming a knight of the Round Table. It surprised her at first, wondering how such a privilege could be so overlooked by someone so important. But then, she noticed perhaps why he was so reserved.

From the sound of it, Myra had been expecting a brawny, loud, and handsome champion, like one of the Orkney brothers. But Lancelot proved otherwise. He was definitely not the best-looking man in the room; his nose was a bit off kilter, his chin jutted out at an odd angle, and his eyes were very brightly piercing, making his thin face look bright yellow, with dimples so deeply etched in his skin that he looked older than he probably was. In fact, he was downright ugly, the only outwardly handsome thing about him being his smooth stride to the throne.

When he had come all the way, Myra displayed her politeness by curtsying, followed by Tabitha, and a bow from Merlin. The rest of the crowd seemed to mimic them with a collective murmuring.

When that was finished, Myra stole a glance at Arthur, who rapidly straightened himself, and stepped down to greet Lancelot.

"Your Majesty," Lancelot said softly as he bowed, his voice smooth and low.

"Greetings to you, Lancelot du Lac," Arthur replied. "It's good to see you have come."

"No, no, the pleasure is mine," Lancelot said, looking with a subtle, wonder-filled admiration at Arthur.

Arthur managed a grin, appearing just a bit more comfortable after noticing Lancelot's gentle voice. Then he stood up and gestured kindly towards the soon-to-be knight, who kneeled down before him respectfully.

When Lancelot obeyed, bowing his head to the ground, Arthur looked to his hand where the sword was proudly poised, in a large golden scabbard intricately designed with an etched spiral. With a grand flourish, he pulled the sword from its scabbard, making a loud _shing! _sound echo through the enormous room. When the sword was free, it glowed majestically, some of its magic peeking into the world. There was another collective murmuring from the audience, while Arthur held the sword just above Lancelot's shoulder; the young man raised his head, and the shining blade reflected inside his eyes, as he took in a sharp breath.

Arthur gently lowered the blade, and held it in both his hands, so it was perpendicular to Lancelot. But he paused there; he wasn't sure what came next.

Beside her, Myra saw Merlin's strained frown starting to show itself. He smoothed his mustache with his hand, looking almost entirely frustrated, but then resorted to concern after fixing himself. He could see that Arthur was struggling to keep the ceremony confidently going, but he was lost in what to do; it would be strange to enchant the last steps of the event into Arthur's mind, in the presence of all these onlookers, and besides, it was against the great wizard's code of magic.

But Myra, knowing what was going on in Arthur's head, and having done some extra reading, moved a little closer to the king. With a movement so tiny not even Merlin could spot it, she touched Arthur's robe, squeezing it tightly between her fingers. In a brief second, she willed some powerful focus into her friend- not whispering any spells, just pushing some confidence onto him. He didn't move around to ask what she was doing, but he did stand up straighter again to continue.

"Lancelot du Lac," he began, if a little slowly, "do you promise…in the name of…of God and country, to defend the poor and helpless?"

"I do," Lancelot replied, nodding his head.

"And…do you promise to…always defend a lady, speak the truth, and maintain bravery at all times?"

"I do."

Afterwards came a whole list of oaths for Lancelot to swear to, to which he answered he always would, barely even noticing Arthur's occasional stumbling. And so, Arthur held out the great sword to the ceiling, gently bringing it down upon Lancelot's shoulders, one after the other.

"And so, by the power of the Royal Crown of all England, I dub thee as…Sir Lancelot du Lac!"

There was a roaring from the crowd as every last noblemen began applauding the new knight, cheering and shouting out their heartiest congratulations while Lancelot rose from the floor. Myra smiled as he looked at each of the royals in turn, with Tabitha giving a little jump when she got her turn; Lancelot chuckled watching the little princess's energy, as did Myra and Arthur.

While Lancelot turned around to finally meet his new admirers, Arthur shot a glance at Myra. "Thank you," he said in a hushed voice. "The magic really helped me."

Myra merely shook her head. "That was not magic," she answered. "Believe it or not, Arthur, you did that all yourself. If there was _any _magic, it was all in the sword. Did you see that beautiful thing glowing like it did?"

Arthur eyed the sword, still glowing gently like always, and he nodded in comprehension. "Of course," he murmured. "I should have known that sword would work its magic in some way"- he whispered the next part- "because knighting someone the first time isn't that easy."

"But you did it, didn't you?" Myra said, shrugging questioningly. "Now you can wow those other knights with your skills of grandeur when you go back to our own time."

Arthur grinned, and Myra patted his back as he stepped from the throne for the next part of the knighting.

Immediately afterwards, in the courtyard, Lancelot stood before the crowd still, but was now being bestowed a mighty sword and shield from Arthur, bearing the same coat of arms as the flags waving from the spires. At the cheering of everyone, Lancelot mounted a new and beautiful brown horse that neighed jubilantly, while Lancelot grinned to the crowd, not seeming to believe that all this was happening to him. In the glaring of the late afternoon sun, not even his ugliness could deter from the glorious state he was in now, as a new knight of King Arthur's Round Table; he was on top of the world, about to enter a whole universe filled with chivalry and honor, where any knight could do no one else could. In Lancelot's mind, he had the power to work miracles for all Englishmen, and life would be one adventure after another.

Afterwards, there came a grand celebration at the center of England, where the tournaments always took place, to showcase Lancelot's new worth as a gallant knight. He and the other knights competed against each other over and over- jousting, sword-fighting, and laughing when some knights bumbled about during their turn. But in every round, Lancelot managed to wow the crowd with his expertise, coming out the winner time and time again. He had some challenges along the way with some of Arthur's best knights, but by the end of the competitions, Lancelot proved, for all to see, that he was the best knight of the bunch.

Myra had a grand old time in that arena, yelling and cheering and laughing with the crowd. Tabitha was excited too, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl, and cheering for each knight that challenged Lancelot, waving a little handkerchief in the air; Myra guffawed at the display her sister made, but the knights were gracious enough, waving to her while they stepped up to take their bets at beating Lancelot. Even Merlin seemed to be getting into the action, despite his disdain for jousting and knights in general, applauding for good moves and frowning at silly mistakes. Still, everyone was having a wonderful time, and even when the sun went all the way down, no one wanted to leave the arena to go back to their real lives.

Despite Merlin's strict etiquette lessons from the last few days, Myra and Arthur both forgot their places as royals, and blended with the other spectators in their wild cheering and laughter. They were relishing in the opportunity to let go and have some fun while their problems were sitting back at the castle. Myra, especially, was glad to not be so on guard, for every last person about her was focused on the games, and it was difficult to not cheer when Arthur was doing so right beside her; in any case, his laughter seemed to be the most contagious.

Even after the tournaments ended, nothing could stop the excited jitters from streaming out. The excitement lingered strongly, and not one spectator could cease talking about what amazement Lancelot had brought to Camelot; Tabitha kept saying she could sing her praises-literally- about Lancelot, and neither Myra nor Arthur disagreed with her. But by now, they were all dirty and sweaty, ready for a good bath, but not quite to settle down after such an event.

Behind them, Myra noticed several ladies of the court following Lancelot from the arena, all waving their handkerchiefs to gain his favor, but he didn't pay much attention to any one of them in particular; of course, he was thankful for their praises, but once more, he didn't make a big show of himself. It amazed Myra that he was so calm under such circumstances, but she found herself liking this knight just as she liked the Orkney brothers.

But then, from in between the large clumps of ladies, Myra saw a bright head of fiery hair stick out towards the front, solemnly making her way towards Lancelot. And when that lady caught up to him, Myra barely heard her chirpy voice speak to him before she was rushed away by Arthur and Tabitha towards the castle.


	13. The Stranger

**Chapter 13: A Stranger**

Even after a couple more days, the gossip and gasps never stopped spreading. Lancelot was the hugest topic in Camelot since the creation of the Round Table, perhaps even greater, and it was amazing to see how rapidly everyone had come to admire him.

In every congregation that Myra attended with Arthur at the Round Table- even the best knights, Tristram and Lamorak – stopped to hear Lancelot carry on about his quests and how glad he was to be a part of Arthur's prestigious court. He never spoke with a spiteful tongue- he was one of the most modest and caring knight that anyone there had ever met. More than anything, he seemed to admire Arthur's code of chivalry established among the knights, always stationing himself with the other knights throughout the castle grounds. He was most often the object of admiration anywhere he stepped, and not one person was unfazed by his appearance; they flocked to him, wanting to know what beasts he had conquered, and what enemies he'd crushed. He was almost never alone, when spotted outside the Round Table.

It was almost frightening- every meeting Myra attended seemed to go faster to both her and the knights. When one knight shared a story, Lancelot joined in with nothing but compliments and enthusiastic questions regarding the adventure. One in particular, was when Sir Pellinore spoke of his humorous quest for the infamous Questing Beast. Lancelot stood straight up from his seat, and said, "'Twas only you, Pellinore, who could find the Beast, because 'tis indeed the destiny of the Pellinores to do so. You keep saying you cannot find it- mayhap the creature is lonely, and requests a challenge!"

The knights would cheer in response, clapping old Pellinore on the back, and saying what a journey that might be.

Myra often exchanged conversation with the Orkney brothers (Agravaine still hadn't shown his mystery of a face), and her gaze often wandered back to Arthur and Lancelot, who were also engaged in dialogue. It was plain to see that Lancelot greatly admired the king, for establishing such peace and nobility in Camelot, and also for being a person with those high qualities. For each moment that they talked, Lancelot's bright eyes never lost their shine, the lips always open with sharp wit or with laughter; Arthur's was the same.

"Good man, tha' Lancelo'," Gawain told Myra. "Hours o' seein' tha' knight, and no' one sour word from his lips. Seems like any o' us would give his good nu' t' be like 'im."

"I've talked to him, somewhat," Gareth piped up. "The man is practically everyone's very best friend now."

"Even yers?" Gaheris asked, a little stupidly.

Gareth nodded. "Exactly, brother. Why I don't think I've ever met a better knight in my life. It's as plain as the eyes in our faces, that he even loves Arthur like a brother."

"Already?" Myra spoke so swiftly that she caused the brothers to jump.

Gareth nodded quickly. "Yes, 'tis the honest truth, Princess," he said. "Lancelot honors the man beyond any one of us, and, really, if you would just look at the way they talk to one another!" He gestured towards the other end of the table, where his brothers and Myra followed it.

Sure enough, Arthur and Lancelot were carrying on still, gesturing between themselves and laughing. Myra easily recognized the expressions Arthur made; they were the same passionate ones he used when he talked to her during lesson breaks. It was amazing. Myra had never seen such a fast connection between two young men.

Well, Arthur _did_ only ever have _her_- a girl- to talk to. Maybe they were discussing more burly subjects- like gory warfare and such…

Myra shook her head. Perhaps it was only natural for a king and his best knight to hit it off so easily in conversation. Still, Myra observed Lancelot's face; not too surprisingly, it wasn't at all forced- it was completely natural, devoid of any sly glances or unsure expression. She would have to leave it at that for now.

"I've never seen such a true connection between men," she said thoughtfully.

"Aye," Gaheris agreed.

"There's two men who a'mire one another fer th' same reasons," Gawain added. "An' a true knight and king they both are. Jest hope neither o' them turn against one another, 'cause such misfortune migh' spell disaster fer all."

**...**

Since the few congregations with Lancelot as part of the team, Arthur seemed ten times more excited at lessons. He couldn't stop talking to Merlin about how wonderful his newest knight was, and while Merlin expressed interest, he didn't try to dive too deep into the subject. Myra couldn't help but agree on that matter, because whenever she tried to further study her potion remedy, Arthur brought up a new subject having to do with Lancelot, and it became hard to concentrate.

But it wasn't only that that made it difficult to focus. The feast celebrating Guinevere's- and now Lancelot's- arrival at court was two days away, and all Myra had come up with was a few counter ingredients to the potion, and no incantation. She still refused to answer the philosophical question that she remembered from beforehand, because, frankly, it frightened her to consider it. It was tempting to try and find some way around such a nuisance, but Myra decided there were other things to worry about.

The only thing that was still capable of venting Myra's tension was magic practice, just like always. Much like Lancelot's tournament, the excitement was amazing, and in everything that she tried to do to keep Arthur under her wing, she actually felt like she was in control, and could keep it that way. Besides, she was getting better.

And after a few days of wonderful practice and fair progress in matters, Myra was looking forward to a good break with Arthur out on the grounds.

That was, until he left early to go out to the hill before she even put away her books.

Snapping the book covers shut, and shoving it back into the shelf savagely, Myra passed Merlin's table, while he was straightening things out for the second part of the daily lesson. Noticing for the second time that Arthur was missing early, Myra grunted curiously, and casually propped herself against the table's side.

She then opened her mouth to ask Merlin where perhaps her best friend could be going these days, but remembering the night both she and Arthur had tried to probe for information about the upcoming feast, she decided to not even bring it up.

Thus, without even saying later to Merlin and Archimedes, she started out of the library, almost slamming the door in her wake. In everything that had been happening, Myra felt like she was reaching the end of her rope. First a new lady- who could dangerously steal Arthur's heart and then break it- and now a new knight- who could very well betray the king he honored above everything in life- had come, and in trying to make sure neither of them harmed Arthur, Myra was wondering how much longer she could balance those two, plus concocting the spell for Arthur, and her own lessons without making other secrets known to Merlin…

"_Oomph!"_

Myra knocked into someone standing before her, and the impact knocked both her, and said person, to the ground. But with a quick shake of her head to clear the senses, she gasped.

On the ground in front of her, was a just-as-bewildered face framed by messy blonde hair.

"Arthur!" she gasped. "What are you doing? I was looking for you…"

"I was just coming back to the library early," he said, rapidly getting back to his feet. "Apparently the grounds aren't quite pretty enough to hang around on today…"

Just hearing those words made Myra want to scream. She was sick of hiding her disdain and tension for the things that Arthur was dealing with, especially with a one certain lady.

"All right, Arthur, your turn to fess up," she said. "Why have you been leaving lessons so early? And…why such the excitement, too? It's like you've drunk a little too much mead."

Arthur looked crookedly at her. "I can't even remember the last time I drank that," he said instead.

"Well there may be at that celebration of yours," Myra added through gritted teeth, more dirty words about to spill from her mouth.

"Hello!" a bird-like voice suddenly said, with a swish of a skirt, into the room; the lady entering gasped when she entered, but it wasn't because of the crimson red Myra's face was turning.

"Oh, goodness gracious!" she said. "Please, forgive me if I've come at a bad time, Your Highness."

Myra bit her tongue to keep from crying out, when she remembered that Guinevere was addressing her. She wiped her hair from her face, and quickly stood up, without helping Arthur back on his feet.

"Oh, well, actually, it would seem I happened to run into my friend here," she said, gesturing with her head towards Arthur. "We were just leaving, actually."

"We were…?" Arthur started to ask, before Myra yanked him back up.

"Yes, we were going back to the library. Royal lessons, and research on various matters, must be taken care of." Myra tried to pass a grin at Guinevere, and the lady grinned sweetly back at her, while Myra started to escort Arthur in the direction of the library.

Myra was so determined to keep Arthur away from Guinevere that she didn't notice that by the time she reached the end of the corridor, Arthur had squeezed out of her grasp. He had already disappeared down another hall- no doubt with Guinevere- by the time Myra had returned to the same spot.

She shook her head, leaning abruptly against the stone wall. It couldn't be. This could only be a recipe for sure disaster, if Arthur got in way too deep with Guinevere.

As if he wasn't already in deep enough…

Myra absentmindedly scratched the back of her head, scuffing up her braid, but she was too deep in rushed thought to notice. She didn't know what she was going to do now. She didn't feel much like facing her potion remedy, because her downy mood would only prompt Merlin to wonder what was going on. Practicing some vigorous magic sounded wonderful enough, but it felt like she had only just done that. As much fun as it sounded, she couldn't bring herself to go back to the library. Maybe she ought to just trail after Arthur and Guinevere- see that they didn't get into any trouble.

Swiftly, Myra stole through the castle, checking the rooms, and scanning her eyes across the space. But when it seemed as if she had checked every last place on that floor of the castle, she decided to step through the doors, into the bright day. Arthur had been wrong; the grounds actually looked very pretty, as the flowers were still strongly blooming, and the crisp clouds hung overhead to block the summer sun at good intervals.

Myra tiptoed through the grass, careful when she turned a corner of the castle, in case Arthur and Guinevere were right around the bend. If at any time she heard someone coming, she quickly transformed herself into a tree, keeping absolutely still while she waited for the sound to go away. It was getting aggravating; there was no sign of them anywhere, and it had been quite a long time now since they had met in the corridor. The only thing keeping Myra cool was the summer breeze that wafted across the boughs that were her arms, the leaves tickling her.

At one point, when Myra had circled the entire castle, she suddenly heard a footfall that sounded close- to close in fact for her to transform herself without being exposed. Thinking fast, she tore around into a run, and made herself invisible with a snap. From a distance, it would have looked like she had run like the wind, when in fact she was standing perfectly still.

From nearby, she caught sight of a tall, snow-skinned man striding across the grass. His long, colorless hair hung like yarn from his head, drifting lazily in the breeze, while his piercing eyes caught the sunlight. Myra cringed; he was by no means ugly, like Lancelot, just a little intimidating, with his strong build, and the way his eyes watched the land around him while he walked.

That's why she almost cried out loud when his dagger-like gaze caught her own.

"Princess," he said, in a low, gentle voice. "Where'd you go? I just saw you." His piercing gaze softened tremendously, while he halted his step. "That's just peculiar. I could have sworn…hmm…wouldn't it be so grand to speak with such a well-liked maiden…"

Myra shot her gaze away. She was too shocked to respond in any way. Could this man perhaps have seen her transform, even when she'd done it so quickly? She wouldn't be surprised- those eyes looked like they could see through anything- there was certainly no denying the power in them. For a fleeting second, Myra considered the notion that this man could also be of magic blood, but she quickly figured that if there were any other wizards in Camelot, Merlin would have told her. For sure, if she didn't know any better, this man would come off as a pretty powerful warlock.

But then, what could this man want with her, and out here, of all places, when he might have seen her work magic?

Cautiously, Myra brought herself out of her spell, taking a great breath while she waited to approach this mysterious man, or if he would find her first.

Finally, she opened her mouth, taking another breath…


	14. The Plan

**Chapter 14: The Plan**

Before Myra could say anything, she flinched, while the strange man's gaze fell on her again.

"Oh, er, Your Highness," the man said, bowing courteously. "At last, we meet."

It took Myra a moment to notice that he was addressing her, so great was her shock in looking at those icy eyes again. When at last she managed to curtsy back, the man grinned discreetly, his eyes so bright they seemed almost like glowing orbs, even against his albino complexion.

"It's good to meet you too, sir," Myra finally said. "What's your name, that is, if it's not too personal?"

"All that you can call me, is a noble ally," he said. "And that's all you ever need know."

Myra looked lopsidedly at him, suddenly not knowing if she should have let herself become known to this man. Didn't he know that it was polite etiquette to let a princess, at the very least, know who you were?

"At least let _me_ know," Myra pleaded. "If I might be queen someday, shouldn't I know who each and every noble in Camelot is?" She bore her eyes knowingly into his, hoping to compel him to answer.

The man chuckled. "Dearest princess, by the time you are queen, I very well may be dead." He frowned, looking at his wispy hair. "I'm older than I look, you see. Truly though, it would be a great shame to not see so young a girl become queen."

"If you won't tell me your name, then maybe you could hint your age," Myra said tryingly.

The man shook his head, and chuckled. "If I may make a note for your use, Princess- when a person cannot tell you their name, they are much less likely to tell you their age. I'm sorry to report, but it's absolute truth."

"I suppose," Myra replied. "Excuse me, then, if I was being too rude."

The man smiled at her, bowing again. "Well, a budding princess is entitled to learn new things every day," he told her. "As I'm sure His Majesty, King Arthur, quite did when he was a lad."

"Oh, he'll be learning something new every day, all right," Myra muttered, rolling her eyes when she thought of the foolish ordeals that he and Guinevere could be doing right about now.

"What's not to learn, after all?" the man said. "I can guarantee my advice will come in handy at the king's celebration in two days." He gave the same kind of knowing expression Myra had given him earlier. "Should I even be asking if you are attending, Princess?"

In all the hubbub surrounding Lancelot's arrival, and Myra's searching the grounds, she had nearly forgotten the short time left before the feast would come. And, considering how little she had seen this strange new lord around the grounds, she was surprised that he even knew about it at all.

Where in the world did this man even come from anyway? But Myra didn't even consider the question; clearly this man would not be keen on answering personal questions.

Myra hesitated to answer. "Well, no, of course I wouldn't miss Arthur's party- not for the world. I have to watch out for him."

The man smirked, although it was a kind one. "Forgive me, my lady," he said. "But I've been in this kingdom long enough to notice your devotion to the man. And, I cannot say in the least that I blame you. Any man who fights for right and might ought to be hailed, tremendously." He let out a puffy chuckle, and swept aside some of his snowy hair before going on. "In particular, mind you, by the princess of all England."

Myra was about to nod in agreement, before the man made a grab at her arm, pulling her from her spot on the grass, into the shadow of one of the castle towers.

Myra gasped loudly, stumbling with the force of the man's pull, and shoved herself out of his grasp when they were under cover of the shadow.

"What was…?"

"Hush, hush, Princess!" the man said quickly, peeking around the wall. He stood still for a long while, before whipping himself around with such cheetah speed even Myra jumped on her toes. His piercing eyes seemed to glow again in the fresh darkness of the shadow, and while Myra was taken aback, he pulled her towards him again, pointing slightly beyond the wall.

"What- are- you doing?" Myra hissed softly. "What is it?"

"If you speak any louder, they'll hear you!"

"They?" Myra wanted to know.

"Look for yourself, my lady," the man said, clasping his hands around Myra's arms to bring her forward. When he let go, she placed her fingers against the stone walls, careful not to step out too far.

A sharp gasp escaped Myra's throat while she watched Arthur and Guinevere stride across the fresh grass. They were side-by-side, almost walking in perfect step, while the wind pushed Guinevere's simple skirt out behind her into a sweeping cape. Her red hair bounced on her back while she walked jovially beside Arthur. When he looked at her, and spoke some silent words, Guinevere snapped opened her mouth in a wide, long laugh, tossing her head back slightly as her hair danced in the breeze. It was a sweet sight for eyes to feast upon, seeing such a pretty lass having jolly talk with the king of England.

But the man's face, on a head that stood just millimeters above Myra's, were squinted in disgust.

"Yes, it's only Arthur, and Guinevere," Myra said, turning around so that she could face the man again. "That's no real surprise. It seems they're getting along quite comfortably now, aren't they?" She squinted her entire face into a stiff frown to match the man's above her. "Yes, I'd say so."

The man quickly erased his own expression, full of dislike. "But, what problem is there, Princess?" he asked, looking pitifully at her. "Wouldn't you like for your king to have a beautiful, trusty woman to have by his side?"

"Beautiful, perhaps," Myra answered. "Trusty, yes, most definitely. But, well, I don't know if I'm sure about the lady Guinevere." She wasn't really certain how to go on. Could she trust this man with her secret feelings about Guinevere?

"Yes, go on," the man pressed her. "Trust me, Princess- whatever you tell me, it's for my ears only."

Myra peered the man right in the eye while she spoke again. "Of course, my lord, I would love nothing more than for a good woman in Arthur's life. But…well, it's not easy to explain why. Honestly, I'm not quite comfortable talking to you about it."

Instead of trying to edge Myra further along, the man just grinned.

"Actually, I believe you might have expressed just enough to me, Highness," he said, bowing slightly. "Coincidentally, I see the same kind of woman in the lady Guinevere."

Myra's heart skipped a beat, though she kept her eyes inside his.

"Quite the fem fatale," he said. "No denying it; she is a beautiful girl. Although, I fear to say it- she may be…too beautiful." He threw an emotionless expression towards Guinevere behind the wall, and Myra didn't react beyond her staring.

Was it possible that he was…an ally, in keeping Arthur safe?

"So, you're saying you don't think she is the right woman for the kingdom?" Myra blurted.

"Oh, no, Princess, I think she could be…"

Myra's chest deflated, hopelessly.

"…that is, if one of Arthur's knights were the heir to the throne."

This time, Myra really did not know how to react. She just stood where she was, and looked at the man, then beyond the wall, where Arthur and Guinevere were, sure enough, still standing together.

But how could Guinevere be the rightful future queen, if Arthur wasn't with her?

And, which…knight?

The man looked pitifully at Myra. Then he glanced back at the blissful couple behind him, sitting on the hill with their heads turned towards the gorgeous land beyond the forest under the hill.

"It's amazing, isn't it, Princess?" he asked, shaking his head at them. "All these days together, and I don't even believe that she knows who he is."

"Well…Arthur certainly wouldn't shove his title down someone's throat," Myra said, through a constricted throat. "Even if he knew them like he knows me."

The man made a _tsk_ing sound with his tongue. "Even so, their attraction isn't the only one in the castle," he whispered.

Myra gulped. Her heartbeat sped up, freezing her in place. She didn't know whether to not speak at all, or if she should dare ask what this nameless man was talking about. There was sneaky passion in the man's voice, and it was hard to guess if it was dislike for Guinevere, or for whatever secret was scratching the surface.

"Oh, Highness, you've gone speechless," he suddenly said, looking surprised.

Myra didn't speak; she was too afraid to.

The man grinned, but took Myra's trembling hand. He tapped it gently with his other hand, stroking his fingers across her skin. "But, sweet Princess, I wouldn't fear for your king," he whispered. "He isn't the one at fault in this. It's his lady. She has a heart that belongs to more than just the one King Arthur."

"What? Who?" Myra's voice came out more sharply than she wanted, but she was anxious. If she had suspected Guinevere before, now she was jumping inside with the frightening truth. So there was now a solid reason for her to watch out for her best friend. But soon enough, the thorns of Guinevere's soul could threaten to prick Arthur's heart, for real.

The man let go of Myra's hand; her skin had gotten hot from the wild thoughts stirring the dangerous fighter inside her.

"It's not my duty to expose someone for what truly lies beneath their rosy cheeks," the man told her at last. "And besides, you wouldn't believe me if I told you who. You would think that the knight's heart is too good for a seductress like her." He pointed savagely with his head towards Guinevere, who was laughing so hard her long red hair was tumbling violently on her back, fanning out in the grass.

Myra shook her head. "Maybe, maybe not," she murmured. "But, that's enough to know that something's got to be done about her. Now."

"I knew you would have it in you, Princess," the man said, his voice just a little slithery. "And soon enough, at the height of the special announcement the Court will relay at the feast, it is the perfect time for the king's special lady to lay the truth before every last nobleman in Camelot."

"But how?" Myra thought aloud.

"It'll be simply, if you obey my instructions," the man said. "It will only take your worst hatred and contempt…and a little rhyme, to mix it all well."


	15. Guinevere's Identity

**Chapter 15: Guinevere's Identity**

Under the strict guidance of the new lord, Myra prepared for the feast with such precise control, it would have seemed like she was going into an exam of Merlin's- that would decide her future as a witch.

Oddly enough, she was stepping into almost a whole new persona. Instead of adorning her worn practice shirt and boots, she was weighed down in a maroon gown with off-shoulder-slashed sleeves, velvet slippers with golden bows at the toe, and dark wine-red jewels sparkling at her neck. It took her several minutes to brush out the snarls in her hair, and return it to its glossy, straight beginnings. When her locks finally hung like satin around her shoulders, she twisted it back into a curly bun, tied off with strands of pearls. With a deep breath, she placed her smudge-less crown into her hair, turning in each direction before her mirror to be sure she looked like a princess.

She grinned. Some magic would be cast out into the crowd tonight.

She opened the door, and, closing it behind her, stepped down the carpeted stairs. With her skirts in her hands, she walked as daintily as she remembered Merlin teaching her- head held high in the air, a smile on her lips, and mind moving just as fast as her feet on the ground.

The onlookers clapped and bowed while she descended the stairs, finally clopping gently onto the floor. Everyone remained on their knees while she walked, her gentle stride barely echoing through the hall, to the grand ballroom.

Usually so dark and dusty, the room was alive with activity. Couples from all over the court twirled across the floor, sharing cups of mead and loud exchanges of gossip. The ladies giggled into their little circles, while the men guffawed like monkeys, throwing themselves around in fits of clear-as-day joy. From a corner of the room, a band of musicians merrily tapped their toes to their music, which resonated all around the guests like a summer funfair. Myra smiled, ducking quickly while a pair of men threw some handkerchiefs over her head at a group of pretty ladies, and she laughed. No doubt of it, this was a marvelous party, and left such a sure feeling of merriness in her, that she had a hard time remembering what she was here for.

Blinking a few times, Myra focused her eyes around the room for Guinevere's head of bright red hair, weaving between hooting men and sweeping skirts around her. Part of Myra was hoping to see her with someone other than Arthur, to just prove to herself that what the strange new lord had said about the lady was true. If Guinevere was in fact seeing someone else, behind the king's back, it would make for even worse of an obstacle, but at the very least she would know the truth.

Was…was the lady just behind that table…?

"Myra!"

Myra jumped back onto the balls of her feet, stumbling around while a bright face, surrounded by dark, glossy hair, smiled widely at her.

"I was looking all over for you!" Tabitha squealed, making a grab for Myra's arm, and dragging her from her petrified spot. "Oh, goodness, Myra, you look so beautiful! Why didn't you help me with my dress; I could look ten times this with you!"

"Oh, um, thank you…so do you," Myra managed to say. "Tabitha, where's Arthur?"

"Oh, you mean His-Majesty-Who-Cannot-Get-Away-From-A-Certain-Lady?" Tabitha said. "Heavens, I've never seen him so attached to someone from the court before. And if you ask me, Myra, _she_ cannot seem to get away from him either." She paused to giggle a high-pitched laugh. "It's incredible. I wish I could have someone, the way they have each other."

"I'm sure," Myra muttered, suddenly halting her step, her velvet slippers slipping across the floor softly.

"Myra, what are you doing?" Tabitha asked, tugging on her sister's arm again. "Don't you want to go and find Arthur, or Merlin?"

Myra didn't open her mouth to answer. What she saw happening just across the room sent her spine rippling with icy chills.

She could see Guinevere, now.

The lady was squashed against the wall, just out of sight of the revelry, her red hair tangled around her head like a bird's nest. Her eyes were closed, but in blissful content, with her hands lifted from her sides, to clutch at something. And suddenly a pair of strong-looking hands grasped at her hair, pulling it between the fingers, and stroking every fiery strand madly. Guinevere gasped sharply as she was pressed further into the wall. But it was more of a strangled moan of pleasure.

Moving away from Tabitha, Myra pressed through the crowd, barely bothering to excuse herself. She was so sure of what she saw happening that the fire burning inside her was flaring up. Her cheeks flushed furiously, the hairs on her neck starting to prickle. The crown on top of her head felt heavier and heavier the further she moved towards the strange scene, excited passion swirling so fast through her, that perspiration threatened to soak into her dress.

Her stomach dropped quickly, with the shock that tore through her when she caught full sight of the pretty lady.

Pushed so tightly against Guinevere's tender breast, was the ugly, contorted face of Lancelot du Lac.

Myra felt her stomach twisting into a knot the more she stared at them, hiding away from peering eyes while they held each other.

So…it was Lancelot that Guinevere was seeing.

Who was supposed to be the purest, and most valiant of all the knights of the Round Table.

Who had conquered so many beasts the devil himself could have spawned…

And who couldn't control his lust for a lady that the king of all England was so dangerously attracted to.

Suddenly, everything that Lancelot had ever said during the congregations- his conquests, his pep-talks- ripped through her mind, and she shook her head. It was absolutely unbelievable. How could such a virtuous knight do something that, with every second, was putting Arthur in further danger? Did Guinevere also know what she was doing? After all, she was the one who was attracted to Arthur in the first place…

A strong, cold hand clasped itself around Myra's arm, and she cried when she was yanked away from the crowd, and around another wall. She was suddenly alone, but also accompanied by a man with a snowy face.

"You see what I was telling you?" he asked hotly, pointing around the corner. "The temptress has yet another man clutched to her breast. And, who does so let her into his heart?"

Myra dared herself to say the name aloud.

"Lancelot," she whispered, so low, she barely spoke.

The man tore his head around the corner, and Myra, reluctant as a frightened horse, followed his gaze. Guinevere and Lancelot had stopped kissing, but they were now looking deeply at each other, as if wanting to memorize every pore- every feature- upon one another's faces. Guinevere lifted a hand to Lancelot's face, and her lips moved, while she shook her head. He looked defeated at her, before Guinevere quickly moved back into the party, leaving Lancelot to stare after her like an abandoned puppy.

"Completely unimaginable," the man said, turning back behind the wall, with Myra in tow.

"Where…when…how long has this been going on?" Myra finally managed to sputter. "I should have known about this a long time ago. I…I…I could've stopped this before it began."

The man laid his hand on Myra's shoulder. "Forgive me saying this aloud to you," he said, "but it should have been easy to learn, Princess, that not everything that happens may come to you. I do not know as much about sorcery as you do, but I do know a reason why your kind is so rare." He cleared his throat, but not without an awkward pause. "That is, relying too much on visions of the future. For it can regrettably turn them into horrid, power-hungry cretins. But I know that you're an exception, Highness. And that is why you're going to cast your spell now."

Myra speedily nodded her head, to keep from dwelling on the feelings that this man's words stirred in her; was a witch who relied on visions really a good-for-nothing?

The man turned her around, and told her to look towards Guinevere, who, by now, was moving towards the gallantly-dressed Arthur, at the center of the room. He grinned widely when he spotted her, bowing and kissing her hand, while Guinevere returned the expression.

"You know what to do." That was all the man said to Myra, gently pushing her back out around the corner. And she walked away, while the man stared after her, watching her even after she disappeared back into the crowds of people.

Gradually, Myra vanished into thin air, watching while Arthur and Guinevere fetched some glasses of mead from a nearby table. Like a gust of air, she followed the two around as they were greeted by various lords and ladies, laughing and chatting like old friends. Myra hung between them, just a hairbreadth away from Guinevere's head, which swayed from side to side with her giggles; Myra had to hold her breath- how she wanted to twist the lady's hair until she screamed, just to stop that incessant laughing.

From that end of the room to the other, Myra hovered, with a ghostly hand floating above Guinevere's head. The incantation was fresh in her mind, and it rang through her like a song, poking at her lips.

The goblet was poised in Guinevere's hand, as though she were about to propose a toast, her lips raised towards the golden rim.

Myra raised her hand, pointing her fanned fingers.

"_Fusis lepore est innoxia__,_

_In iusto stuprum dilatabis__._

_Super mendaciis__,_

_Time dicere vera omnibus_!"

A transparent vapor wafted from Myra's spell, swirling around Guinevere's goblet, finally immersing itself into the mead. The liquid changed for a fraction of a second to a watery purple, then to a dark cherry red, and back to its original honey-yellow.

Myra cracked her knuckles in satisfaction. "Let's see you mess with Arthur now!" she hissed, starting to play around with Guinevere's hair in her invisible hands. She would love just watching her spell bewitch such a two-faced wench.

She braced herself for the words that would spill out from Guinevere's mouth, Arthur's face all twisted when she would tell her slithery secret...

Then there was a clink on a table, as a goblet was placed down upon it, while Arthur pulled Guinevere away with urgent excitement.

Myra's limbs snapped to her sides, grunting furiously while she dashed for a wall to hide behind while she lifted her invisibility spell. Then she was running back out to look for Arthur who, by now, had disappeared into the crowd like a sand grain in a bag of flour.

She quickly went back to the table. Guinevere had set her goblet down so quickly, that some of the mead had spilled onto the decorative cloth, staining it in dark splotches.

Myra swore, pulling her head up to locate Arthur again.

She jumped almost ten feet when a gentle fanfare rang out. There was a collective pause throughout the room, while everyone turned around to watch. An awesome spectacle was starting through the doors, with servants and kinsmen alike, marching in straight lines. They looked straight ahead of them, dressed in magnificent uniform.

But none of them were as grand as the old man who came in after them.

His velvet shoes didn't thunder through the room like his kinsmen, but he certainly carried an air about him. He was decked in the finest satin robes, of gold and yellow and red, with a long, sweeping cape that dragged on the floor, inching along in his stride like a velvet worm. His eyes, piercing, but gentle, looked all along his pathway at the onlookers, smiling at them while he passed.

The moment he appeared, the crowd fell upon their knees, and Arthur stood tall among them, watching this new king come into his castle. Guinevere broke away from Arthur's grip, and raced to the grey-haired king, who, upon seeing the fiery-haired lady, put his hands on her shoulders; his eyes absolutely shown with joy.

"My darling daughter," he sang softly.

"Father," she said, kissing him on his cheek.

Myra peered thoughtfully at the king. "So, that's King Leodegrance," she murmured.

Leodegrance then stepped out from Guinevere, spreading his arms wide. "And hello to all of you here, and, His Majesty, King Arthur," he said, bowing low with a modest flourish.

Arthur finally marched through the crowd, stepping up to Leodegrance, who bowed in return. "King Leodegrance," Arthur politely addressed him.

"Greetings," Leodegrance said jovially. He divided his gaze between Arthur and Guinevere before speaking again. "My friends," he said gently to them, "shall you come forth with me to the head of this grand room? Then, my child, you shall know why it is you have come to Camelot."

Guinevere gazed up like a curious child at her father, a gleeful smile grazing at her lips.

Leodegrance resumed his gentle, kingly stride, with Arthur and Guinevere following suit. The crowd was still on their knees while the three royals crossed the room to the grand staircase, which branched off in both directions, decorated with lavish maroon carpet.

And slowly, while Leodegrance marched up the stairs, and stopped at the landing, he held up both hands to Arthur and Guinevere. They froze where they were, and under Leodegrance's gentle instruction, they knelt down a few steps below him.

Myra gulped, her lungs constricting. This was the moment of truth, what all the weeks of wondering were about.

"Good people of Camelot," Leodegrance called to the ballroom. "Long have you all waited for this wonderful day, so I shall not delay in your news. Now, you all see before you, one of the most wonderful rulers in all England-perhaps better than myself, if I can say so- and a most cherished child of mine. They both have wonderful hearts, and there is no doubt in my mind, that they shall do wonderful things for our country."

"Get on with it," Myra grumbled, biting her lip hard enough to draw some blood.

"And so, I shall say to all, with God as my witness, that King Arthur, and Lady Guinevere shall, upon the first day of August, join this kingdom of Camelot, with my kingdom of Carmelide, for as long as they both shall live, in holy matrimony."


	16. New Tactics

**Chapter 16: New Tactics**

Almost immediately following the announcement, Myra charged towards the exit, not bothering to listen to the singing and joyful rejoice. Her skirt whooshed out behind her, while Tabitha's high voice carried through the room. Myra almost laughed at the contradiction her little sister's voice provided; there was laughter and jolly congregation, but there was a silent storm brewing in the princess's heart.

Lightning strikes of surprise and anger struck at Myra at random times, and she sure as hell could hear the thunder of the happy laughter ringing around her. She couldn't understand the joyfulness; couldn't anyone understand the danger about to take place? Guinevere was clearly happy about the prospect of being married to Arthur, as she was clapping and singing along with Tabitha's song with so much volume that she might as well have been the one singing. But Myra was moving so quickly through the room, that she didn't have the time to shoot the queen-to-be the worst wince she could manage. Even so, she didn't care. Getting somewhere where at least she could hear her own thoughts would be suitable enough.

At last, Myra reached the end of the corridor, collapsing against the wall when she felt like she could run no farther in her tight velvet shoes. In frustration, she lifted her skirts, and tugged the shoes from her feet, flicking them all the way to the other wall, where they softly clopped against the woodwork. Myra sighed as deeply as her lungs could intake, and she slid down the wall to the floor. The fabric of her dress bunched up horribly, but she didn't pay much mind to such a petty thing as her dress. She hated the thing anyway; she couldn't wait to take it off, and lock away the heavy pendant around her neck as well.

But she couldn't bring herself to move from her spot; and even if she tried, it would take a long time in the heavy, long skirt of her dress. So she got comfortable, pulling her skirt around her bare feet on the cold marble floor, and hugged her knees to her chest. Her head started to feel like lead on her neck, so she laid her chin upon her knees, closing her eyes against the troubled thoughts that haunted her once again.

She felt like she had been betrayed, like everything was falling apart at the seams. How could she not have seen that coming? That Guinevere was supposed to be, of all things, Arthur's _bride-to-be_? A _queen_? About to rule over all the kingdom, and help Arthur make all his kingly decisions, and then possibly turn her back on him at a most inopportune time? Myra scoffed disdainfully. Guinevere couldn't possibly be queen. She was too soft, and too childish, even if her position was beside a wonderful person like Arthur. Maybe with time, Guinevere would learn that her true loyalty lied with the one she could truly run away with, and never return to the kingdom again.

For once, the thought of two people eloping sounded like the grandest idea in the world.

Myra groaned again, when she thought of the graphic way she had seen Lancelot and Guinevere kissing each other in the ballroom, and she almost lost her breath when she randomly put Arthur in Lancelot's place inside her mind. In fact, she had to shove herself back off the ground by one hand, to keep from letting anything come up her throat, for fear she might draw unnecessary attention. But, then, what attention could she possibly get if she was an entire corridor away from a roaring ballroom, where no one could even hear themselves think lusty thoughts?

Backing up once more against the wall, the princess simply sat still, keeping like the stone statues all along the walls. But her mind was whirring, wishing she could erase the daunting image of Lancelot and Guinevere's kiss out of her head. She didn't try magic, as she didn't know what kind of spell would fix that, and she certainly didn't want to mess with her mind when soon enough, she would have to do something to break Arthur away from Guinevere before the first of August.

What was she thinking? Waiting was out of the question on something like this.

"Your Highness?"

The low rumble of that voice shot chills down Myra's back while she snapped her gaze up, causing some loose hair to fall from her twist. She brushed them from her face, and sucked in a gust of air to see who was walking towards her.

"The spell has been cast," he intoned, "hasn't it?"

Myra didn't speak at first, laying her head back on her knees.

"Princess?" the man asked, stalking up to her. He leaned one hand against the wall, and looked down upon Myra, straining his eyes on her until she looked up at him.

"What's your answer?" he asked, leaning his head down to catch a better glimpse of Myra's darkened eyes.

"Yes," Myra finally said. "And, no."

There was instant silence, while Myra gazed at the floor, and the man stared at her downturned head.

"You _did _say the magic words," the man said, bending lower to the floor.

Myra said nothing.

"The revelation will soon begin, won't it?" the man pressed, still leaning closer towards Myra's slumped-down face.

She was still.

"_Princess_!" the man snapped, almost right in Myra's ear. She snapped her back against the wall, and winced when her head smacked into the woodwork behind her. In shock she opened her mouth to protest against the man's loud voice, when he beat her to it.

"I'll ask you one last time, slowly and clearly," he murmured, with a straight face, although Myra could sense the impatience growing beneath the exterior. "Did Guinevere fall under the spell, or did she not?"

Myra was almost afraid to answer, with the man's sharp grey eyes staring straight through her, but she slowly repositioned herself, and looked him back, although her heart was still slamming. "No," she said. "No, she did not drink the mead that I bewitched. She just walked away, and someone else probably drank it."

The man shot back up, and jammed his fingertips into his scalp. "Aye, aye, aye. And just when things were about to go so according to plan," he mumbled, before turning to look back down at Myra with his steely gaze. "Dare you elaborate on how else the magic didn't work on the pudding-minded girl?"

"No, I think enough words have been said, between the two of us," Myra said. "I really don't want to talk about it right now, so, if it's all right, I'm going to my chamber." Myra hoisted herself from the floor, and, picking up her skirts in big bunches, started to stride away from the man down the corridor.

"Stop there!"

The man grabbed Myra's forearm once again; the ice of his grasp gripped her, while she was pulled back with such force that if she hadn't stomped her foot down, she would have been smashed right back into the wall.

"Forgive me in the highest regard you can, Your Highness," the man said softly, though with tough edge, "but there is no such thing as brushing aside your failure to taking this first step in saving your king. Do you think it is not vital that we stop this before it grows, like the plague?"

"Yes, I do," Myra answered. "But I need some time to think. I can't just come up with some wild-brained plan in less than five seconds, as apparently, you have the ability to."

"That is not the point, Highness," the man growled. "What matters is that we take care of this beast before it goes wild on everything that you, and I, hold dear about this kingdom. I thought perhaps you would want that as well."

"Again, yes, I do," Myra repeated. "I'm not going to be arguing about this, though. I need to go to my bedchamber, and do some thinking. You can just stay down here and keep an eye on the king, and Guinevere."

The man only half-grinned. "I should like to spit on her," he said. "But I should also like for you to stay with me, and carry on with this."

"I told you. I've had enough of this party," Myra said, stepping towards the staircase. "And so, I am leaving the rest of this up to you. Good night." She turned around, and started up the stairs, keeping her head held low.

The man glared after the princess. How could she just walk away? Had her devotion to the king worn out that quickly? She should still be inside that ballroom, joining in on all the merry-making, and watching for what other treachery might be committed right under the king's nose.

Quite frankly, he was disappointed. Perhaps it had been a wrong idea to count on the princess, and her magic, to carry out this plan. What other alternative did he have; and what better way to exact vengeance, than to use magic?

Well, apparently, he was wrong.

He would have to carry out the rest of this plan, which the princess had so foolishly failed to finish. With or without her, he would be sure that nothing good would ever come of Lancelot and Guinevere being together.

Even if he had to call in a few extra- if unfaithful- favors.


	17. Morgause

**Chapter 17: Morgause**

The moment that Myra closed her bedchamber door, she flung off her gown, tore off her jewelry, and snapped her hair back down straight again; all without disappearing behind her changing screen. But what did that matter? No one could see her, because they were probably too busy watching the new queen-to-be dancing her pretty face off with her fiancé.

Fiancé.

Myra felt a vile taste come into her mouth when she thought it.

Finally crossing to her screen, she grabbed her white nightclothes off the top of the wall, and pulled them onto her body. She stomped across the room, and plopped herself upon the bed.

She shook her head, while she yanked the covers away from her pillow. She had said to the strange man that she would think about what to do next, when, in reality, she felt like she was giving up. No; she would never do that to Arthur. But she had been so caught off guard, by Guinevere not taking the magic drink as planned, that she wasn't sure now how to expose her.

Myra leaned back on her pillow, looking around the wide room, at the woodwork, the elaborate molding on the ceiling, and the wide-open window behind her changing screen. The night was clear, just like a normal summer night in Camelot, with the stars speckled around it like silver freckles.

_It's laughing at me_, Myra thought. _It can see what is happening in that ballroom, and then it can see me up here. Oh, what will I do now_?

With a groan, she leaned further into the bed, so that her nightclothes gathered in a bunch uncomfortably under her back. She readjusted her gown while her eyes never left a spot on her wall. And slowly, her cheeks got hot, her limbs feeling tight under her bed sheets. This wasn't normal, and she didn't like it. With hot energy starting to flow through her, she didn't feel like sleeping. She couldn't, and especially after everything that had happened, there came the burning passion and the desire to do something. Even if it meant getting out of this room, and escaping to somewhere else; as long as it wasn't back to the ballroom.

With a grunt, Myra shoved aside her sheets, and slid her feet into some slippers. She crossed back to her changing screen, and fetched a red poncho from behind it. Throwing it over her head, she plaited her hair back into a braid, and started out the door.

Once outside, she lifted her hands to cast an invisibility spell, and marched downstairs. Deliberately, she clomped her slippers on the stairs so as not to hear the cheering and laughter from the ballroom so much. But once she was on the floor, she increased her step before anyone could catch up to her; if there was even a chance of that in the first place.

The library was as quiet as a chapel when she entered, but she still took comfort in such familiar surroundings. Almost automatically, she crossed to the table, and then abruptly stopped.

"All right," she whispered. "Everyone else is gone, so there's no way on earth anyone will care to watch their princess practice a little magic." She eyed all corners of the library, including where the magical sword was kept. Somehow, she held her gaze for just a little longer on the mystical object, observing the perfect steel blade, and the shiny golden handle, in complete shape in spite of all the years it had been used.

Myra slumped her shoulders. "Hmm," she said. "Arthur, I wish you could be here. Because, you know, I honestly think you would have a lot more fun here, practicing with the sword, than sucking lips with that whore. You don't deserve her. And the only thing she deserves is a lifetime in the dungeon."

"Take that!" She flung her hand out, and a ball of red energy materialized, flying in a projectile towards the library wall, where it smashed apart like a snowball. Myra grinned in satisfaction; there was a great gash in the stones, where the wall had been chipped away at until the next room over could be seen.

"I told you that you wouldn't want to mess with anyone," she whispered, forming another spell inside her palms. "By the time I'm through with you, Lady Guinevere of Leodegrance at Carmelide, life will be meaningless to you." And, turning to face another wall, she fired, watching while the magic ate like leeches at an ancient shelf, letting the wood fall to the floor and crumble at her feet.

"I'll make sure you get out of here, and that you won't think twice about not returning here. Ever again!"

She twisted her fingers, and a tiny whirlwind swirled beneath her fingers, making her nightclothes waver around her legs. "The prisoners can have you, then! Better yet, _you_ can have _them_- lure them away into your dirty hands, like you're doing to my friend."

Myra lifted her hands, and literally held the whirlwind above her palms, letting it twirl for some moments before she hurled it away from her. It took off a good chunk of the same place in the wall she first hit, but Myra didn't care. It felt wonderful to vent her feelings through the magic inside her, letting it grow and release the adrenaline that drove away the madness, like wind blows away the leaves in autumn.

And so, Myra drove herself forth, conjuring up magic that she hurled around, passed from hand to hand, or just cast, and then let it die away. She hopped around the library, imagining that there was a battle occurring between her, and some unknown enemy. She started off slowly, but gradually increased her power, speeding her movements, when she passed the marvelous sword in the corner.

Myra kept her magic big and loud, to drown out all noise of the party from across the castle. But slowly, she noticed a decrease in the laughter, and much slower, softer notes from the minstrels and entertainers.

She stopped where she was, and looked outside at the moon. Since she had left her bedroom, the great silver orb had moved high enough so that she could only see a sliver of it from behind the windowpanes. But surely enough, the once-indigo sky was mixing with some shades of pink and orange, although they were not vibrant yet.

While the dull shades of dawn crept in through the window, Myra crossed the room to one of the armchairs next to the fireplace- the one that faced the window. She hadn't expected to suddenly feel so at peace, thanks to her magic practice, but now that she was sitting in something so soft, she felt her eyelids droop, and her limbs lose all their tension. And without her even knowing it, she was drifting deeper and deeper into the pillow under her head, leaning further down so that her body curled up in the seat.

Finally, she couldn't tell if she was just drowsy, or if the world had blanked out altogether.

"Princess Myra?" a slithery, sweet female voice asked into the darkness that followed.

It took Myra some time to open her eyes, but she was slowly able to turn her head, and notice who was talking to her. In the dim light, she could make out a thin, feminine silhouette standing out against the coming dawn. There were long, silky strands of dark hair that fell below her breasts, but other than that, Myra saw no signs of clear identity.

"Who…?" Myra began. "Who are you?"

"It is I, your aunt," the voice said.

"My aunt?" Myra's voice rose on the second word, a chill running through her, while she shot up from her chair. Her heart jolted one final time as the silhouette became clearer, like a sinister shadow.

"Yes. Morgan is my sister," the voice said. "And I am Morgause."

"Morgause?"

"For heaven's sakes, child, don't ask so many rhetorical questions!"

"I'm sorry," Myra said, pulling back from the mysterious woman.

"Hmph!" Morgause breathed. "I would think that, as a princess, you would be taught better manners."

"Well, I don't know who you are," Myra replied, "aside from that, apparently, you are my aunt, and…I don't know why you are here." She paused, peering at the shadowy figure. "Why _are _you here?"

"Can you stand up, first?" Morgause said instead.

Myra did as she was told, but very sleepily.

"Well, first of all, I must have come at a terrible time," Morgause observed. "I would suppose that you would still be reveling with the king."

"Yes, I _would_," Myra answered, "but…I just didn't feel like it."

"You aren't a very good liar, my dear." Myra couldn't see Morgause's face, but she didn't need daylight to see that the woman was sneering playfully at her.

"Well, I apologize for not knowing you," Myra said. "You may very well be my aunt, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to trust you at the drop of a hat."

"And you do not have to," Morgause answered, gently. "I know it, my dear. It is never easy to trust a witch at first sight."

"What do you mean?" Myra wanted to know.

Morgause sighed. "Have you not figured it out, silly girl? Like my sister, like _you_- I also possess a supernatural ability to conjure magic spells. In other words, I am a sorceress- a witch!"

"I understand," Myra said indignantly. "Hmm. I suppose you really _are _my mother's sister."

"That much, you have figured out," Morgause said. "You come from a long line of sisters with magic. Myself, Morgan, and our youngest, Elaine, are all witches. Unfortunately, little Elaine has vanished from the light of day, but you and Morgan and I are some of the last surviving witches in the country."

Myra opened her eyes wider, in consideration of this new information. "Well, I never knew I had an aunt. Or _aunts_, I guess. Much less that they might all be witches, like me."

"All the more reason to be proud of it," Morgause added.

In spite of this new fact, Myra still wasn't shaken from her old question.

"But, wait a moment," she began. "You still haven't told me why you are here, in the castle? I can't say that I've ever seen you around before now."

Morgause leaned casually on the table next to her, pushing aside the chair that Arthur usually sat in. "I shall only say that it was the love of an aunt that brought me," she replied, in a smooth voice that reminded Myra of honey on a sheet of hot steel. "I was never informed that my sister had had a daughter. The little sneak has had many lovers, but of course, she was never successful in conceiving a baby. And one so powerful, too."

"I don't believe you," Myra said.

Morgause sighed, as if this conversation were wearing her out. "Not only was my sister a dreadful communicator," she breathed, "but she changed her mind just like leaves change colors in the autumn. Never shall I know whether it was lack of interest, or pure, unbridled lust, that she loved so many men, but your father was the lucky winner."

Myra sighed too, in almost an exact mimic of Morgause's, but with much more contempt. "No, not about that," she said. "I don't believe that you're here, just because of the fact that I'm your niece, and you wanted to check up on me. You don't seem the type to want to keep an eye on people. Even if they are family."

It was silent for a long, long moment, before Morgause chuckled. It was more like a cackle, really.

"And thus, my niece isn't as dimwitted as I suspected her to be," she slurred. "Dear, dear Myra. I've known about you for quite some time, and so, I know what you've been up to. You've taken after my sister quite a bit; magic is your whole bread and butter. Why, I could have sworn I watched you flinging around the old spark just before I came here."

"Yes? What's it to you?" Myra asked, folding her arms across her chest and giving Morgause her hardest look.

Morgause sighed once more, mimicking Myra's pose by folding her arms, but also cocking her hips to the side a little. "Dear, everyone knows it," she said. "Your devotion to the king is absolutely undeniable. And, if I didn't know better, I would say that you don't want him to marry the lady Guinevere. Why else would you have left his party so early?"

Myra simply turned her head away instead. "Go away. I don't want you here anymore."

"There's no point in hiding your feelings from me," Morgause crooned. "I've been in your shoes before. I know what it's like to care for someone as though they were your own. You wish to keep them under your wing, and then, one day, you simply must let them fly the chicken coop. Well, in my case, my five little boys- they _wanted_ to leave; to go, and do great things for God and country. And, if I'm not mistaken, I believe that they are still here."

Myra turned her head. "You have sons? Oh, well, who are they?"

Morgause stepped over, and leaned her head down so that she and Myra were just centimeters apart. "My five sons are part of this kingdom, just as Pellinore, Lamorak, Tristram, and Lancelot are," she whispered. "I believe you know them. You are actually pretty friendly with them, as far as I have known…" She let her voice trail away.

Myra let her head run through the knights she had met since congregating at the Round Table. Almost immediately- once she had gotten past Arthur and Lancelot- she thought of the brotherly grapples, and honorable conversations she had had with Gawain and Gareth and Gaheris.

"Gawain?" she asked, slowly turning back to face Morgause.

The witch only grinned at her, nodding her head.

Myra shot her head back up, and then jumped from her chair. "Gawain?" she asked again. "Gawain? And Gaheris? And…and Gareth? They are your _sons_?"

Morgause smiled further, reaching to pat Myra on her shoulder; she pulled away.

"Then…then you're one of the Orkneys," Myra finished. It wasn't intended as a question.

Morgause didn't nod, nor make any motion of affirm. Rather, she stood still, keeping the same hip-cocked-to-the-side pose against the study table. Meanwhile, Myra was stumbling over the fact that once more, someone she knew was some unknown member of her family. She wanted to laugh and cry out at the same time; she wouldn't ever mind that Gawain, Gaheris, or Gareth were her cousins. But she hated that she didn't know about this earlier. Sooner or later, she could guarantee that someone really, very strange would turn out to be related to her…

All right, so that made three sons of Morgause's…

"But, wait a minute," Myra said quickly. "We've narrowed down this list of new cousins to three. But, just who are the other two?"

"One of them you've never seen before," Morgause said, in an airy voice. "And, unfortunately, he seems not to be favored by my three little knights."

Myra pushed her mind back to the day she had actually met the three Orkney brothers. She had almost forgotten that there wasn't just the three of them, but she could now recall the looks of disdain on all of their faces when they mentioned their fourth brother.

"Oh, um…Agravaine…" Myra said, as the name came to her, but also, as it was followed by another thought. She knew she had heard Morgause say she had five sons. But…that was funny; Gawain had said that there was only him, Gaheris, Gareth, and Agravaine.

Did she miss something? Had Gawain lied to her, or was Morgause- who seemed so collected and uncaring- yanking her chain?

Four sons? Five sons? It just didn't add up.

She shook her head. "Morgause, could you tell me who…?"

But by the time Myra had looked back up at her magical aunt, her silhouette had vanished into the dawn.


	18. A Witch's Secret

**Chapter 18: A Witch's Secret**

In the blink of an eye, the sun rose through the windowpanes in front of Myra, blinding her in her shock at having seen Morgause disappear so suddenly. The witch couldn't have chosen a more inopportune time to vanish, for Myra was now frozen in asking her question.

Instead of finishing, she shook her head, and sat back in the chair to regain herself. It was bad enough she was left hanging, but she wasn't sure what to think in the first place. When she considered all that had been said and done, any grinding in her mind- while Morgause had talked to her- was absent. So it was clear that there hadn't been a vision, but it was pretty hard for Myra to shake off everything that her witch aunt had told her.

Gawain, Gareth, and Gaheris were actually her cousins, as well as the anonymous-faced Agravaine. But once more, it only left four out of five supposed sons.

Myra shook her head, as if trying to be sure she had thought right. Was it so horrible for Morgause to have straight out said _who_ the fifth son was? Myra had enough on her plate now, to worry about some unknown cousin. She wondered if it was even worth trying to found out anyway.

But she felt she wouldn't be able to gather everything that she needed, just from looking at books and papers. She had a little interrogating to do at the Round Table.

Forcing herself into a speedy walk, Myra returned to her bedroom and dressed herself decently. She braided her hair back again, and then practically flew down to the front doors, pulling them open, and making her way to the cathedral.

Once at the doors, she shoved them open, and marched to her place at the Round Table, where some of the knights were already congregating. She recognized Tristram and Lamorak, Pellinore, and the three Orkney brothers. But there was one sitting beside Gaheris, that at first, Myra had to blink twice at to notice.

The Orkney brothers, and Pellinore talking up a storm already, with Tristram and Lamorak easily joining in, but the seventh knight wasn't speaking at all. His snow-white hair just fell over his face, and his albino hands barely moved with the excited gestures of the other knights.

Myra sat down, and folded her hands over the table, twining her fingers together. She locked her eyes on Gawain, who didn't notice until Gareth caught Myra's expression, and turned his brother to face her.

"Aw, good' mornin', lady Highness," he said, bowing his head. "M' apologies fer not seein' ya there."

"Quite fine, Sir Gawain," Myra said coolly. "I just happened to be here, and have taken my seat. So, now that I'm here, I will ask you about a few things. That is, if you have your ears now."

Gawain didn't hesitate to bow his head respectfully once more.

"Sir Gawain," Myra began, using her most princess-like voice. "Forgive me if I'm imploring too deeply, but am I correct in assuming that Gaheris, Gareth, and Agravaine, are your brothers."

"Yeh," Gawain answered. "Yeh, that is the correct assumption, Highness."

"All right," Myra said. "Then, what is the honest truth, Sir Gawain? Do you have more than three other brothers?"

Gawain's eyes drooped in his face, but they gradually started to widen. He put a finger to his lips, as if he were trying to think of something. He didn't take it away, even when he opened his mouth.

"Er…dare I ask, Highness, why…you…want to know?" he said.

"You don't need to ask questions," Myra told him. "The only question you'll be talking about is the one you should answer."

Gawain took his finger away from his lips, and laid it on top of the table. While Myra expected him to look nervous, he only sat up straighter, and then held his head to the ceiling.

"'Tis my duty as a knight t' always say th' honest truth," he stated surely. "And thus, I 'ave failed t' relay in m' duties, Your Highness." He shook his head, but didn't lose the mighty expression he had inside his eyes. He turned his gaze over to Myra's, and then he spoke once more.

"I di' relay honesty in sayin' tha' Gareth, Gaheris, and Agravaine are my brothers. Bu', a' least I was decent enough to mention 'im. Although, he isn't m' real brother."

"What? Who are you talking about?" Myra said.

Gawain cleared his throat, though a little awkwardly. "Princess, I 'ave mentioned m' true, legitimate brothers. But…there is a fifth one I fergot 'bout. You 'member Mordred?"

How _could_ she forget the foreboding manner in which he- and the rest of his brothers- spoke that name?

She nodded her head.

"He is th' fifth brother of Orkney. But he is a- dare I say it- bastard son of m' mother, and another man."

Silence ensued quickly, and Gawain hung his head again.

"I truly hate t' have t' tell ya that, Highness," he whispered, "but at least I am now in good behavior wi' m' job as a knight of Arthur's Table. Although, I am not exactly proud t' say that Mordred is m' brother." Gawain paused shortly, sitting back a little bit. "Well, better an illegitimate than a true blood, I suppose."

Myra didn't say anything. She was only too glad to know that she finally had the truth. So, Morgause had been right. And, although she was disappointed that Gawain hadn't said something earlier, she was happy that he finally came clean.

Still, that wasn't the end of the line.

"Or better yet," Myra began again, "did you ever know that you and your brothers are my cousins!"

Gawain scrunched his face, so that every feature was ridden with wrinkles and folds.

"I ask, Highness, when th' truth will ever b' good t' any of us?" he said. "Though, I guess I should've known ye would 'ave figured it out sooner or later. Yer a smart young woman. And you know, I bet tha' Arthur is more than proud t' 'ave a princess like ye under 'is wing."

Myra smiled at her good-hearted knight-turned-cousin, and patted him on his meaty shoulder. Gawain grinned back, and winked reassuringly.

"Having a wonderful time are you, my dear?"

Myra drew in a quick breath when she heard the familiar voice. She turned her head around her chair, and a pair of bright, piercing eyes framed by long black locks met her with shocking swiftness.

"Morgause!" Myra half-shouted, while she jerked violently back from her witch aunt.

"Highness?" Gawain said alertly, sitting up straight and reaching for the hilt of his sword. "Wha' is th' matter?"

"Easy there, Gawain," Myra said quickly. "I just…er, well…saw a spider."

"Whose name was 'Gause'?" Gawain asked, cocking both eyebrows up one after the other.

"Why don't you talk to Lamorak and Pellinore, and the others?" Myra offered, swiftly turning Gawain's shoulders so that he was facing the other knights.

Gawain smirked suspiciously. "I'm watching out fer ya, Princess," he whispered, before he raised his hand to engage the other knights.

The minute that Gawain wasn't looking, Myra whipped herself back around to face Morgause, ignoring the snap of her long braid in her face. Morgause faced her with a curly-lipped smile, her icy blue eyes sparkling.

"Morgause," Myra repeated.

"Enjoying yourself?" Morgause said, locking her hands together as though she were utterly overjoyed to see her niece there.

"What are you doing here?" Myra asked instead. She folded her arms, and crossed her legs to show that she wasn't afraid this time to see her aunt.

Morgause drifted across the floor to Myra, like she wasn't stepping at all. She peered down at her niece with keen eyes. "Such a beautiful girl you have become," she said. "I never would have guessed you to look so lovely, seeing as it was so dark this morning…"

"Cut that out," Myra said coolly. "I want answers now, not petty compliments."

"Oh, very well," Morgause sighed, taking a step back in the same drifty motion. "But never you mind, my dear. I am not here to do what you think. I only hope that you and I can catch up on each other. After all, I haven't basked in decent conversation with you in over thirty years. And, neither you to me."

"Who really cares?" Myra wanted to know. "I think I might already know all I need to know about you. You're a witch; you always have on that goo-goo- eyed smile; and, I will admit, your eyes are not exactly human."

Morgause laughed. "How in God's name would you know what a witch's eyes should be?" she asked, gesturing at Myra's ocean-blue eyes. "The only witches you have ever known are yourself, my sister, and I. Oh, Myra, dear. I pity young girls like you- believing that you know everything there is about the universe."

"Well, I'm lucky," Myra shot back. "Merlin's has taught me well for several years. And most of the girls in Camelot can't even read or write, can they?"

"No other teacher happens to be the world's most powerful wizard," Morgause said flatly. "And in any case, have you ever heard of a flighty femme fatale like Morgan le Fay producing any other witches, with eyes like mine?"

Myra stayed silent.

"Exactly."

Myra kept her steely eyes on Morgause, while the witch drifted around the Round Table. The knights there were jabbering on, laughing, and all the while, never turning around to see the beautiful, icy, dark-haired lady lingering behind their chairs. But Morgause soon seemed to slow down, stopping behind the shaking chair of the laughing Lamorak.

Pellinore patted Lamorak on his back, making the young knight fall back into his chair, while his wide eyes glinted with utter glee. Morgause smiled.

"What…?" Myra started.

Morgause put a long-nailed finger delicately to her lips, and for a moment, Myra thought she saw her aunt's pupils dilate, making her look like a cat about to pounce. But then, Morgause leaned down so that her chin was just above Lamorak's head of bright hair. She looked like a playful devil- still as stone- while Lamorak chuckled jovially beneath her snowy chin.

Morgause leaned her head further down, so that her ebony hair fell around Lamorak's face. The silky strands tickled his cheeks, till he had to laugh out loud again, while Morgause pulled her long, talon-like hands from behind the chair.

Myra swallowed hard, grasping her chair to keep from firing out a spell.

"Darling…" Morgause inched her fingers down Lamorak's neck, and then his shoulders, moving like a snake over the top of his chair. Her hair fell down over Lamorak's face, hiding it just before he closed his eyes, and raised his head, in what looked like a swiftly growing ecstasy.

Myra darted her eyes around. No other knight in the room seemed to be gawking at Lamorak like she was, as Morgause continued to slither around the helpless knight's body. In fact, the only knight who looked at Lamorak with any kind of confusion was Pellinore. But his wrinkled face was somewhat fascinated, like he was watching a tournament taking place, instead of his son being assaulted by a witch.

Myra jumped at this. "Pellinore, what's happening to Lamorak?" she said softly, so as not to get Morgause's attention.

Pellinore shrugged, and then chuckled loudly. "What's there to worry about, my sweet Princess?" he asked jollily. "It's only clear that he's got a lady in favor. See? He's got his eyes closed, and he's smiling. Plainly thinking of her- just as if she is right in front of him."

"More than you should ever hope imaginable," Myra muttered.

By now, Morgause had her hands tangled up in Lamorak's hair, swishing her fingers around it like she was trying to scrub every strand clean. The sleeves of her dress were falling from her shoulders, and she dipped her head almost to the table, her hair fanning out like a thousand spider legs as Lamorak started kissing her neck. She sighed, flinging her head all the way back. Her breaths came out fast, her limbs shaking in an erotic frenzy. "Darling…" she whispered again, her cat-like eyes flicking open for just a millisecond.

Still, that was enough for Myra to see that trouble might follow if Morgause couldn't be torn away.

She stood up from her seat, and bounded around the table to Lamorak. She grabbed Morgause's shoulder and arm and, whispering an incantation , threw her aunt from Lamorak's lap like she was a dirty rag. Morgause nearly screamed as she was flung to the ground, just as Lamorak sucked in a great breath that caused every knight in the room to look his way.

Pellinore nervously chuckled. "Say, Lamorak, you've got a good little lady on your mind, haven't you?" he asked.

Lamorak, whose face had gone alabaster white and his hands shaking like a baby calf's legs, didn't move. He only blinked a few times to show his shock, while the other knights looked between each other, questioning whatever kind of stupor Lamorak had fallen into.

The voices of the knights then mingled with Morgause's strangled gasps, as she rose quickly from her awkward position on the floor.

"Why you inconceivable little-"

"No words, now!" Myra interrupted. "Just answers. What in the name of god what was that all about?"

Morgause was silent for a long time, with her eyes half-locked on Myra and half on Lamorak, who still appeared to be in shock over whatever had overtaken him while Morgause was in his lap. Even Pellinore seemed a little concerned. But that was nothing compared to Morgause's stiff expression.

"Dear," she began, "as a princess of substantial age, surely you would have discovered by now what it feels like to be in love, haven't you? To want someone with every little corner of your mind, and your heart, like all the others claim it to be?"

"Maybe, but not on first sight," Myra answered. "It seems to me like you just saw him and went for his pants like you've been lovers since you were who-knows-how young."

Morgause giggled. "Now, dear, do not think of me that way. You forget that it is my sister Morgan who prefers every man she meets. My heart is as pure as gold, so, naturally, I love Lamorak as he loves me."

"Be that as it may, it didn't look like you wanted to show yourself to the other knights at the table," Myra pointed out. "As far as I could tell, you were invisible to everyone- even Lamorak."

Morgause flicked her eyes around one time, and then pointed a talon at the knights behind Myra's back. Myra turned around to follow her direction.

"I am not as conniving and flashy as you think I am," Morgause said. "If I showed myself to those men, there would be the devil to pay. Both for myself, and for my dear Lamorak."

"I still don't understand," Myra said, folding her arms again.

Morgause heaved a deep sigh, and took Myra's hands; her nails dug into Myra's skin, leaving large pink indents in the flesh. "My dear girl, Lamorak knows who I am. No one else knows of our love, and thus, not a soul ever shall find out. It shall mean dire consequences for Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth, and Agravaine. And even for Pellinore."

"Because he is Lamorak's father," Myra noted.

Morgause blinked twice in reply. "And that doesn't even scratch the surface," she continued. She stood up straighter, and clenched her nails tighter into Myra's skin. "Come, we'll go somewhere where not a sneaky soul can overhear."

Morgause took a tighter hold of Myra's hands, and she flinched, as Morgause cast her hand all around them in a circle. She flung her hand up, and within seconds, Myra felt themselves rising just above the ground. There was a rush of hot air while they had vanished into thin air, touching down somewhere that smelled instantly of grass and lush vegetation.

When Myra opened her eyes, she saw that they were no longer inside of the enormous cathedral, but rather in front of a great lake, surrounded by sloping hills, and little bunches of trees waving in a fresh wind that blew across the water.

"What is this place?"Myra asked.

"The Loe, my dear," Morgause said. "One of the most beautiful places in all England, and someplace I am certain you shall find yourself in for a second time."


	19. The Loe

**Chapter 19: The Loe**

Morgause circled Myra, gesturing tenderly around her, as Myra watched her aunt with sharp eyes. She almost looked like a dark goddess, with her long dark hair waving in the breeze, and her dark robes flowing like drapes on a high window.

"Quite a spectacle, isn't it?" Morgause said. "Ah, yes, cannot say in the least that it disgraces the eye."

"But…it's just an ordinary lake," Myra noted. "So, just what are we doing here?"

"Did you lose your ears on the way here?" Morgause said with a smirk. "This lake is where you and I shall speak about what you have just seen. Though, I should give you fair warning, my dear. What I am about to tell you is strictly for your attention only. I've told you, and I will not repeat again: should anyone know of what is taking place between me and Lamorak, dreadful things shall happen."

"And you would care if dreadful things happened, because…?" Myra said, a little teasingly.

Morgause snapped her eyes on Myra with such suddenness that Myra's heart lurched up her throat. She bore her icy eyes deep into her niece's, taking on the semblance of a statue. "I am a witch, Myra. But just because I am not _you_, it does not mean that I am wicked," she whispered. "I mean well for my children, and for the man that I desire. I would hate for dreadful things to happen, thanks to me. Or you."

Myra scoffed, but she didn't make another comeback. "Well, all right then, witch-aunt. Start your wonderful explanation."

With that, Morgause started for the edge of the lake, stopping at the water, which gently splashed onto the hem of her robes. Her face was turned straight ahead onto the lake, as if observing the great hills and vast countryside beyond.

"Lamorak and I go way back," Morgause began. "Even before his days as a ruthless, valiant knight to Arthur, he was known for being an expert swordsman. Only when he became a knight of England, did he show his true colors. We live in a world of magic, my dear, and with magic, come monsters and fair ladies to be rescued. Lamorak did battle and went on those heroic missions at the drop of a hat. And permit me to say that I believe he made a better knight than Lancelot ever will be. On the battlefield, he was like a bird on the wind- a carnivorous lion, more so. Lamorak may be a jovial man, but when provoked as such he is nearly unstoppable."

Myra stepped up beside her aunt, and followed her wandering gaze out over the water. "What sorts of things did he do?" Myra wanted to know.

"Only once I have seen him slay thirty knights in less than an afternoon's time," Morgause replied. "It's simply too bad you were not there to see it. Not a soldier wasn't fighting, and there were no less than one death every second. And all at the fiery hands of Lamorak, himself."

"Well, he sure sounds like he could be on par with Lancelot," Myra said, "if he can slay practically a whole army of knights all by himself."

"Lancelot is too gentle. That's his problem," Morgause said. "Lancelot is a gallant knight- no doubt one of Arthur's finest- but his heart is like a pile of down feathers plucked from a hen. Lamorak has a heart hardened by all his years of fighting enemies. He actually waits to watch his enemies die at his hands, and not prancing away on his horse with joy in his heart." Morgause turned, and gave Myra a knowing smile, subtly cocking one eyebrow. "A fine-tuned sense of vengeance is the only way to thoroughly be a knight. Just ask my son, Gawain."

Myra squinted her eyes, and her shoulders dropped unexpectedly. "What's Gawain got to do with any of this?" she asked.

Morgause loosened her expression so that she looked almost sad, and she looked back out at the lonely lake again.

"Here's the real truth, my dear," she said. "My family has been through tragedies that most would not believe, even in the savage times we live in. King Lot of Orkney- he was my husband."

"Was?" Myra repeated.

"Killed by Pellinore in battle several years ago," Morgause answered. "Gawain was so young a man then- always taking after his father as though he were God himself, and his other brothers were no different. So, of course, when Gawain must have felt like his god was dead, the only way to ever feel anything again was to return the favor to Pellinore."

"But it was an accident, wasn't it?" Myra pointed out. "If Gawain knew that Pellinore had done it by mistake, then shouldn't he have just walked away and moved on?"

Morgause turned again to her niece, with the knowing shine back in her eyes. "My dear, if there is one thing to know about my sons, is that they never walk away from something as stupid as what Pellinore did. Orkney had lost their king- and to a man as dimwitted as Pellinore. I mean, Myra, do you truly believe that the Questing Beast exists- when not a soul except for Pellinore has seen it? Tell me now if you think that that is reason to call Pellinore a reasonable man?"

Myra looked down into the water, recalling all the stories that Pellinore had told the Round Table about such a creature- with its serpent neck, leopard body, and its hart feet. But unlike Morgause, she felt she could actually believe that such a beast existed. And besides, she liked Pellinore for his enthusiasm and his love for his knighthood. Whatever could be wrong with that?

"I'd still like to know what became of Gawain from all this," Myra said instead.

Morgause looked out at the lake alongside her niece. "Revenge," she said. "That was what became of him. All these years he has been waiting for just the right second to dispose of the man who killed his father. And I cannot say I have ever tried to stop him. Having lost someone like Lot, to a head full of pudding like Pellinore, is what has lost our family's peace."

"Are Gaheris, Gareth, Agravaine, and Mordred in on it too?" Myra asked, breathless.

"All iron-hearted knights, but unfortunately, not as vengeful as my eldest," Morgause answered. "But you see my point, my dear? Lamorak and I are supposed to be bitter enemies. If my children knew that I was holding the same bed as the son of Pellinore, there shall be consequences not even you can imagine."

"In other words, you're just going to have to face watching your love get killed by one of your sons?" Myra said, and she laughed- without humor.

Morgause had a look on her face that was like a cross between an angry frown, and a foreshadowing of tears.

And then she grasped Myra's hands again, digging her claw-like fingers into Myra's skin.

"Ow!" Myra yelped.

"If you believe that this is a joke," Morgause growled, "don't make me think twice about not harming you." She yanked Myra back from the lake, while the princess caught one last glance at the water. At the place where she had looked down, the water had turned a light beige color, swirling and swishing, while something swam beneath it. It sparkled, moving through the water with the grace of a mermaid.

"Did you see that?" Myra asked, pointing at the lake.

"What?" Morgause said lazily, but while Myra opened her mouth to answer, she heaved another restless sigh. "Come, you've heard enough. We're going back."

And once more, she cast her hand in a circle, flinging it high above her head before the rush of hot air swept them off their feet. Just seconds later, Myra felt her feet make contact with the grass, and the air go back to normal into her tight lungs.

Myra took full advantage by pulling in all the air she could. She never did fancy traveling by magic, as it only twisted up her stomach and made her nauseous.

Which was why it didn't help when Morgause dug her fingernails into Myra's shoulder, and then shoved her some inches across the ground.

"Go on now," Morgause said sharply. "But do not think I am not keeping a sharp eye on you. Behave yourself." And within seconds, she was gone from sight.

"Goodness," Myra said, pushing the word out with great emphasis, while she swept her hair from her face. "Maybe it's about time I start interrogating asking questions myself, instead of letting these secrets come about all over the place. I've got enough as it is…"

Sighing once more, Myra let herself collapse onto the grass, sitting Indian-style where she was. Then she leaned her cheek into her palm, gradually relaxing her shoulders to recover from both her journey through space with Morgause, and the new thoughts whirling through her head.

Well, her interrogation with Gawain wasn't over yet. That much she knew.

But, what about Morgause? Because Myra still wasn't ready to believe that her aunt was doing anything for someone's benefit, even for her late husband, or her children; there had to be some purpose to Morgause telling what she had. She obviously had enough confidence to spill such truths to her niece, but there had to be more than just hollow sentiments. Morgause had been allowing for her son to wait in silence for the killing moment, for the increasingly dark cloud over Pellinore to finally explode. In blood.

And sooner or later, Lamorak could be the next one to be struck.

Myra pulled out her voice in a low yell. She felt like she was taking responsibility now for everyone's lives, not just Arthur's. And at this point in time, there was definitely not much worth in watching out for every last person she came across with death hovering over their heads. Arthur was the glue who would ultimately hold all of Camelot- all of England- together. So he would always be the only one who mattered.

Maybe it was about time she forgot about Morgause and Gawain and Lamorak, and returned to her home in the library. The familiar smell of books and magic ingredients should bring her mission back into clear view.

Her limbs still feeling like jam from her traveling, Myra managed to get her bearings, and step back towards the castle, clearing her head in the meantime. She tried to think of nothing then, except for her cozy seat next to the magic books, and what magic spell she would cast next against her practice partner.


	20. The Red Bed

**Chapter 20: The Red Bed**

In spite of Myra's efforts to rekindle her normal routine, Morgause's story still rang in her head like a voice from a dark nightmare. Just as before, she couldn't imagine anything like what was occurring between her witch aunt and one of Arthur's best knights. She couldn't help but think- as knights, wouldn't they know better than to keep away from the alluring, snake-voiced women like Morgause, who could snap their hearts in two as easily as a flower stem?

Well, then again, it wasn't like Lancelot was any different.

Myra spent the next week attending the Round Table congregations with Arthur, who actually appeared to be at his most joyful. In little snippets, Myra overheard his conversations with Lancelot about Guinevere, and the rest went out her other ear. She knew what he was talking about, in terms of his new bride-to-be, and she felt her heart go numb every time she heard the name.

Her attitude was no different towards Gawain, who, in fact, seemed particularly excited since it turned up that he was the princess's cousin. At least once a day, Myra heard him whisper his vows to protect his fair princess, and to win her favor over Lancelot in the next tournament. Myra laughed out loud when he accidentally said them loud enough for the other knights to hear, and Gawain blushed. Gareth and Gaheris joined in sometimes, and they all laughed together- outmatched only by the jovial hollers of Arthur and Lancelot, and Pellinore and Lamorak.

"It's too bad we didn't know of our relations earlier," Gareth told Myra.

"Aye, then we could'a brought ya to all our festivals and ridden horses, and, uh, hunted together!" Gaheris said, laughing so that his belly shook.

Myra gave an unsure smile, but she laughed anyway; she would have liked to have spent her earlier years with the three Orkney brothers. Well, Agravaine and Mordred, she could do without, although she would have loved to best them with her magic in combat practices. Complete the circle with Arthur and Tabitha, and it would have made for a perfect childhood bunch.

"Speaking of which," Myra murmured. "Should I even be asking if Agravaine or Mordred will ever plan to show up here?"

The laughter on the brothers' faces instantly evaporated. They looked at each other.

"Th' only day Agravaine would b' showin' fer anything," Gaheris said, "would be if he were t' go under a lady's big skirt." He stopped, and put a hand over his lips quickly. "You isn't wearing a dress, right?" he asked softly.

Myra looked down, but just lifted her long red shirt. "Why?" she responded instead.

"No reason," Gaheris whispered. "Just wonderin'."

"Yeah, no need t' worry, Princess," Gawain added. "No reason for Agravaine or Mordred t' ever show up 'ere. They 'ave come, bu' very rarely. I think it'd be like a dishonor to their wicked ways t' step in too much. Tha' is, if they will ever step in t' b' given a penance."

Gareth nodded his head meekly.

Myra sipped from the goblet in front of her thoughtfully. She couldn't imagine ever letting Agravaine get so close as to toy with her clothes, as Gaheris seemed to put it. It wasn't surprising to her to think of a villain like Agravaine, or Mordred for that matter, being that way with a woman. Even if said woman was a poor and defenseless peasant.

Still, she did wonder about him, and what he did while his brothers were here at the Round Table. She had never seen him here, and now she doubted even more so if she ever would. From the sound of it, Gawain not only wanted to rid himself of Pellinore, but also of the nuisance that Agravaine was. Only real criminals were offered penances, or being sent to a priest to have their sins forgiven, from a knight.

Myra sipped from her goblet again, but much more discreetly, while she glanced around the table. In fact, she sat back against her chair, and swallowed her mead as if she were testing for a foul flavor. With each knight, she sipped slower, and slower, making note of the scenes occurring around her.

All in all, she didn't find many surprises. The laughter and the clinking of goblets still mixed in the air like some modest party, and the gallant clothes of the knights twinkled when the sun touched the delicate silk.

She finally moved her cautious eye towards Arthur beside her. But she only had her gaze on him for a few seconds before he caught her eyes, and grinned.

Myra had to slap down her goblet before she realized she was starting to blush through her quick smile. She put her hands to her cheeks, and cringed when she felt the heat.

Silently, Myra chastised herself for her reaction to Arthur's smile, but her attention was suddenly caught onto something different.

Across the table from her, Pellinore and Lamorak had been chatting as they usually did. Their laughter, like always, was one of the loudest, but it abruptly had stopped.

"Ah!"

Lamorak had snapped his head back against his chair, the sound reverberating for a moment through the cathedral, although it was almost silent compared to the merrymaking of everyone there. His eyes closed, as if he was going to sleep, but he raised his head to expose his neck and collarbone, as though trying to make room for something there.

He suppressed a low moan, and his hands lifted to the air, where he lowered them again. But he didn't do so quickly. His fingers moved through the space with gentle, almost precise movements. And he moved his hands through the air again, making almost the exact same motions.

It looked like he was caressing- loving on- a ghost.

Or Morgause.

Pellinore's laughter broke their dual silence quickly. "Say, thinking of your girl, what?" he crowed.

Lamorak didn't answer, only groaning, deep and low.

Myra's feet slammed together on the floor, and her muscles stiffened. She put her goblet down, though not gently, positioning herself as if she would pounce across the table. In fact, her hands were clamping the edge of the table, leaning forward, sparks flaring beneath her palms.

"Your Highness?" Gawain asked, leaning far into Myra's view.

"Not now, Gawain," she growled. "Someone's trying to make love to Lamorak over there."

"Nonsense," the knight protested. "Princess, there's no one there."

"I have to stop her again," Myra said, almost silently.

"If I may inquire, Your Highness," Gawain said uneasily, nodding his head. "Why don't ya lay off the mead fer a second or two? Ya may b' gettin' a little loose-minded there."

Myra blinked a few times, then looked between Gawain, and Lamorak, who was still sighing and moaning in his chair, but less intensely. She squinted, watching the ways in which Lamorak was moving his body in his chair. At second glance, it was hard to see if he was making room for Morgause in his lap again, or if he was just shifting to get more comfortable.

Maybe it _was_ all in her mind this time…?

Myra shook her head, not knowing what to think. And gradually, her fingers relaxed on the table, and, ever so slowly, she slipped them off the wood altogether, into her lap.

"Should I call a nurse fer ya?" Gawain asked gently.

"No, I'm all right, thank you," Myra said, sitting back in her chair. "Maybe I really did drink a little too much mead."

"Now ya see what I tell ya." Gawain shook his head. "Pardon me, Princess, but mead and women don't always mix like knights and fights do."

Myra shook her head as well, sighing.

…**.**

Once the Round Table had dispersed, Myra solemnly left the cathedral. She wished that she actually could have seen Morgause sitting with Lamorak. The witch was stupid to think that she could get away with making love to a knight among his comrades; particularly when her witch-niece was watching closely nearby.

But somehow, instead of endlessly pondering, she found herself wandering down the walk from the cathedral back to the castle. Everything still seemed so twisted and strange, that she honestly didn't know where she could go. For now, just walking felt good enough. There was solace in letting her feet find some kind of rhythm on the gravel, breathing in sweet summer air while she focused on emptying her whirling mind. She put herself into the gentle beat of her footsteps, memorizing the rhythm.

Myra walked up the steps to the door, at last entering, while the guards at the entrance bowed to her. She didn't acknowledge them; instead, she turned her toes in the direction of the staircase that led to the library. No doubt of it she would find Merlin there among the books and papers. And if she was lucky, he would be up there tutoring Tabitha, and she could join in on their lessons. Of course, it wouldn't be like the typical routine to not have Arthur there, but she figured at least helping her little sister with schooling would do her some good.

Clopping her boot on the stairs, Myra pulled down her shirt to straighten it, and then began her ascent, not hesitating to climb two steps at once.

The familiar landing at the top greeted her warmly, and she started across the vast and ornate rug.

But all at once, she stopped.

A door slam had broken the silence of this castle floor, not very far from the stairs. It was resonating even now in her ears- a loud, angry _wham! _that sounded like the drop of a book in an empty church.

"What?" Myra asked herself. She stepped forward, and cupped a hand around her gaping lips. "Hello? Is someone up here?"

Silence followed, but Myra could still detect swift sounds of skittering footfalls under her boots.

Then, surely whoever was running around now, was not a servant, nor a noble.

Myra stepped down the hall, increasing her speed as she went, but kept to the great rug so as not to give away her position. Ever so slightly, she heard the footfalls crossing the floor, their sources still hidden behind the walls. Myra followed the rug to the end of the hall, and then turned a corner to chase the sounds further, until finally, she didn't hear footsteps.

Just creaking. Like the low squeak of another door.

Whipping around, Myra turned to the hallway closest to her, and found the creaking growing louder. She stopped, and did a double take, when she had turned, and actually saw a door close off the light at the end of the corridor.

For a long time, after the door gently shut, absolutely no sound came from behind it. Myra refused to move, in case the door might open and she could glimpse who she had been pursuing. And yet she wanted to go, and return to the library, as she had wanted.

Until she heard the breath.

It was a slow, drawn out sound, as if someone were inhaling the equivalent of five lungfuls. It seemed to be a mix of desperation, but also calm. And like a hollow wind, it repeated several times over, each time so slowly drawn out and quiet that it was hard to read. Moreover, Myra couldn't turn away from the door. Instead, she stepped towards it.

Her blood beat through her ears, though she paid that no mind. The almost mad-sounding breaths filled her, causing her insides to turn around. Anticipation made her stiff, so that only her legs moved, to bring her to the door.

"_Darling_…"

Myra stopped once more, almost snapping backwards when she heard the voice break the breathy noise.

"_Please let me_," the voice said again. "_You're so beautiful, my darling_."

"_Let me…_" And then, there came the breathing again, but, not quite as restrained. Each sound afterwards was a continuing crescendo of both a gasp and a moan. Another voice joined that one breath of heavy air, and it was nearly incomprehensible as to what was happening to whom.

Each step to the door was increasingly fast, but still careful. Every time someone breathed or moaned in almost sadistic pleasure, Myra halted to listen, cringing, not daring to imagine what was going on. Though soon enough, her heart grew weary listening to the voices, for she could gather a clear idea about who was oblivious to her standing just inches away from the scandalous action.

"_My…love…_" the female voice whispered. Myra squeezed her ear on the wood of the door to listen, palms flat upon it. "_Oh, why didn't you come to me sooner_?"

Her partner didn't answer; just breathing as if pulling in the hard ecstasy in the woman's voice.

Myra's blood pounded so that it beat in her fingers on the door. She wasn't breathing very hard, so as to hear what was being said, but her lungs felt tight from not taking in air. Finally, she allowed herself a slow breath, and dropped her shoulders against her anxiety.

Perhaps she should forget this little mystery now and walk to the comfort of her books and sweet knowledge. It would be better than waiting for two silly lovers to show themselves. And besides, it was starting to get quiet in the room.

She moved her foot away, a few inches, still keeping her hands on the door. She started to take them away when the wood quickly fell out from beneath her fingers. A sudden gush of light, and a shadow in the doorway, stared back at Myra, and within seconds, she whirled to face what was behind her. The sharp silhouette sent a swift shiver up her back, and she jumped backwards, forcing a grunt out her throat when she met the floor.

"Stay back, love," the dark figure said, turning to face the light. Myra instantly recognized the contoured, young features of Lamorak. "It's only the princess." At this, he threw himself into a courtly bow, and reached down a hand. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I didn't know you were so nearby."

Myra met his eyes for just a moment, looking beyond him to the bed. Tangled between a lavender blanket, and the white bed sheets, with her long black hair flowing over her prominently naked breasts, Morgause's pink lips were agape with a mix of pure bewilderment, and utmost fury.

"Morgause," said Myra. It wasn't a question.

"_Princess_."

All eyes turned to meet this new voice, which they found to be lost in the shadows, where the sliver of sunlight couldn't reach. In seconds, he was up and right next to Myra, as if he had merely appeared out of thin air next to her.

"What?" Myra asked him.

"Surprised to see me?" the man asked, in a low, caramel-smooth voice. The sly nature of this dark stranger instantly made Myra think of her anonymous helper, and for some odd reason, a shiver slid across her arms. "I, too, had no idea you would be sneaking around seeing the knights."

"What?" Myra repeated. "No, that's not at all what I'm doing. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Oh, I don't know," the man sighed. "Perhaps the fact that that there is an open door, wherein, is a knight half-stripped of his mail, before a disarrayed bed…and…" He leaned to the side to look beyond Lamorak's shocked expression.

"Agravaine!"

Myra turned with a quickened heart to her aunt on the bed, whose face held the same mixture of disbelief and fury. But now, it was turning to fear more than anything, since she addressed the stranger.

"Agravaine?" Myra and Lamorak asked at the same time.

"Mother…" Agravaine's voice was still smoother than honey, but his eyes blazed with a black stormy shine. He moved past Myra- who stared after him with a growing look of realization- and stopped just beside Lamorak.

"Who…are you, sir?" Agravaine asked in a snarl.

"My name is Sir Lamorak, of the Pellinore line," Lamorak answered, not daring to move. "What have _you_ come _here_ for?"

Agravaine half-smiled. "You question my presence in this castle," he said, "when you are the man bedding my mother? The mortal enemy of your father? You know- the King Pellinore, who has trialed and failed for the- what do you call it- Questing Beast?"

Lamorak stood tall and straight, not looking anywhere but at Agravaine. "I don't fear you," he said.

Agravaine made a dismissive sound with his teeth. "You Pellinores are all the same, you know? Chasing the impossible dreams of a fool. My brothers and I are not that way. We remember what your father did to ours. Do you not?"

Lamorak said nothing.

"I thought just," Agravaine sneered.

And then, a few seconds happened all at once.

Agravaine swung a dagger from a sheath at his side, and flung it across the air. Both his feet left the ground, his dark hair bouncing about his head while he pounced onto the bed.

Lamorak opened his mouth in a cry of anguish, and Myra was stuck, registering the sound of a knife piercing flesh. She didn't fire off any magic, nor make any sounds like Lamorak; only watching.

Morgause was the loudest of them all, screaming like a little child as Agravaine threw himself onto her. He rose his knifed hand up over and over as Morgause yelped, kicking against the bed.

The last thing Myra noticed, before she fled the scene, were the crisp white sheets changing to scarlet, glittering wet in the warm sunglow.


	21. Under the Rain

**Chapter 21: Under the Rain**

To say that Myra would soon forget about Agravaine's fit of rage was like saying that a swan would soon swallow a peacock. When she dressed for bed that night, lacing up the front of her bodice took her several minutes to do, as though the laces were on her back instead of right below her neck. And every time she looked in the mirror, she saw the reflection of Morgause's horrified face before Agravaine attacked her- the cool blue as wide as an ice puddle, and her pale face whiter than the purest cloud.

Now, at last, she had met the infamous Agravaine. Well, Gawain certainly hadn't been joking when he claimed that his brother wasn't the best person to have around. No doubt of it, setting his tainted knife on someone would make a good day, since he could kill his mother without a second to spare.

Such a savage thought only reminded Myra that what Agravaine did to Morgause might be the start of something more. He now knew what his mother, and the son of his family's mortal enemy, had been doing behind everyone's backs. Of course, he seemed to have done justice by doing away with Morgause, but that was probably spark enough anyway. And in light of the Orkney brothers' reputation, none of them would hesitate to put the feud to rest once and for all.

Myra clutched her stomach, just as she considered the results of the recent events. Despite how Morgause had made it out to be, Pellinore's killing of her husband had been an accident, and thus, no real cause to die. Nonetheless, she groaned, and slumped to her bed, crawling across the blankets until she practically threw herself onto the pillows. She didn't close her eyes. She just laid sprawled flat on her back, madly flicking her eyes from one part of the room to another, as everything that had occurred in the last days replayed in her mind. Taking in a huge breath, she dragged her hand along the bed to lie on top of her stomach, which, along with the rest of her body, felt sour.

Sighing, Myra turned to look out the window, where a sliver of the moon winked back at her. She didn't look away while she kept perfectly still, trying to focus on the gentle starlight that radiated from it. In the tranquil sense that came over her, Myra raised her hand to the candle on the table behind her and in a blink of an eye, the flame blinked out, covering the room in a silvery blue glow.

Her thoughts still raged like a hurricane, but the more Myra watched the moon, observing its gentle light, and the precise shape of its crescent, the less she could remember….

Slowly she closed her eyes, lying still just like a dark-haired child between the blankets.

…

Myra rose from sleep like a lazy child on harvest day, immediately slumping herself down on the bed. She groaned, putting her hands over her head, after she yanked the blankets back over herself, so that she couldn't see the morning light coming through her window. As if to match her mood, raindrops splashed the glass, comforting her for a moment in her sour awakening.

Just as Myra was about to fall back into sleep, she heard a knocking. In less than a second, she shot her head from under the blanket, and glanced towards her door. "Yes?" she called.

The door inched open, and Myra's alert gaze fell after she watched a maid walk into the room with a flourish and a curtsy. "Your Highness," she addressed, "it is the king's request that you rise from your bed."

"Why?" Myra asked, laying her head back on the bed in disappointment. That foul feeling came deeper into her. "I'm sure he's far too busy with his lovely fiancé at this hour."

"Not at all, my lady," answered the maid. "Come, come. Shall I help you dress?"

"No, I'll be all right." Myra sat back up, and rolled from her bed, crossing to her changing screen, and although she said she didn't need help, the maid stayed by the door. She was quiet, while Myra's nightclothes swung over the top of the screen, and she reappeared in half-decent clothing, giving a nod to the maid while she walked out the door.

"Where can I find the king?" she asked the maid, at the bottom of the stairs.

"You called for me?"

Myra's cloudy state of mind instantly evaporated when she heard the voice. She stepped around, and felt her spirits fly when she caught his bright, blue-eyed face.

"Arthur," Myra acknowledged him.

"Your Majesty." The maid curtsied cordially.

"Myra," Arthur said, bowing his head. "It's good to see you got out of bed before I had to send for a nurse."

"Even better to see you remembered I might still be in bed," Myra said with a smirk, before she dismissed the maid, who scuttled away a little too slowly. "You're so busy lately."

"Well, meeting with the knights at the Round Table, and watching over Camelot…" Arthur meekly put his hands behind his back. "Still, it's not like I've completely forgotten about my good friend."

"Could you ever?" Myra said, tapping her foot.

Arthur flicked his eyes around the room, and gestured towards the hall that led off to the lobby doors. "Here, why don't we go somewhere where it's not so dark, or stuffy?" He motioned with his eyes towards the windowless walls, and the very dim torchlight.

Myra answered by bending low, as if she were leading a god through a doorway. "By your leave, O Wonderful King."

Arthur chuckled, and started through the hall, helping Myra to her feet as she bent down a little too low. She blushed a fiery pink, straightening her clothes.

Arthur led them down the hallway, past bustling servants and lingering noblemen, and finally, to the front lobby, but he surprised Myra by turning a corner, and off to another little door just opposite that hall. Hidden under a section of low ceiling was a wooden door, just like one would find in a cottage. Arthur pushed it open, bringing a tiny blast of warm air that fluffed back his bangs, while he stepped outside. Myra stiffened momentarily, but still followed Arthur.

The day wasn't that hot- for a day in the middle of summer. It actually seemed more like spring, with the gentle warm air, and the way the rain pattered against the flora in the landscapes. Myra could detect a little tinkling sound when the raindrops hit the stones, sparkling against the silver sky.

"Good idea coming outside," Myra noted, though a little unsure, as Arthur led them further down a walkway to a long bridge that hovered over the brook far below the hill. The wooden roof was dark with the rain, but covered by an ornately designed roof, with thick railings that were sopping with the water that splashed onto the bottom of the bridge.

"Guinevere told me it would be an even better idea to stay out of the rain," Arthur explained. "Well, she forgot about this bridge down here."

"Clearly," Myra mumbled, a subtle sarcasm in her voice. "Otherwise, if she came out with you, her pretty little dress may be ruined, and she'd have to ask the maids to draw her a thousand baths just to wash away the dirt."

Arthur had no answer to that. Instead, he drew himself up to the edge of the bridge railing, where he looked down into the water, which rippled in a million places where the rain plopped.

Myra stepped up beside him, and folded her arms over the railing.

"All right, what's going on?" she said. "I don't think you would have wanted me to get out of bed for just about nothing."

"It's funny," Arthur said. "I considered the idea of taking some time by myself out here. But, I thought maybe it'd be kind of sad without someone here with me."

"Hmm…?" Myra gave her friend a knowing smile, cocking one eyebrow high.

"I may be king, Myra, but that doesn't entitle me to spending every second sitting on that big throne," Arthur responded. "It's made of the finest velvet, but even that can be asking for a lot- for a whole day sitting down."

"And you're saying that you- King Arthur- the greatest king that England has known in all its history- is bothered by some stupid seat cushion?"

"That's not the point," Arthur said with a shake of his head. "You overestimate me more than you think, Myra. I'm not some almighty savior sent from above to conquer a nation. I'm only human, trying my very best to help a kingdom rise from its knees."

"And you're doing a wonderful job of it!" exclaimed Myra. "Apparently, you're great enough that even the most unknown and obscure of kings has gotten his daughter betrothed to you. Of course, neither Leodegrance nor Guinevere can ever outmatch you, but that's saying something about what you're doing for England."

Arthur chuckled, leaning his head into his folded arms to recover himself. "All right. If I stopped being so modest, would you still think the same things about me?" he wondered aloud.

"You'll be great, no matter what you do for England," Myra said reassuringly. "I mean, who stuck beside me when Morgan le Fay came back for blood? Who fought with me not just because he was trying to prove himself a king, but because his family was in danger?" _Who would be ten times the ruler that Guinevere will ever be? _she added mentally.

Arthur was silent for a long time, before he took his hand out from under himself, and inched it towards Myra's arm. His fingers grazed the fine fabric of her sleeve, a little damp from the rain. "You know, you're not the princess just because you like to sing praises of your king all the time," he said. "It's got to be done with goodness and pride. You've got to…want…things for the kingdom, and not the glory of having a title…"

"Wherever you go, go with all your heart…" Myra's voice trailed off while she finished the sentence.

Arthur scratched his fingers against Myra's sleeve, though she couldn't tell if it was friendly affection, or a signal for attention. "Have you been reading philosophy?" he wondered aloud.

Myra returned his knowing smile. "Can I ever escape the magic draw of the written word…?" she said, widening her eyes as if in awe of a miracle.

They looked at each other for a moment, before they both chuckled at Myra's exaggerated expression.

_See, this is where he belongs_, thought Myra. _I'd like to see the day he can tell Guinevere that his princess is a witch, and that his special sword has magic powers. My guess is she would faint flat on her face, and bask in her childish excitement until her sad little heart can't take it anymore. _Myra laughed when she pictured it, and Arthur followed her.

"I'm glad we came out here," Myra admitted.

Arthur nodded, while he looked out at the water. "It feels like the day we sled down that hill," he said. "There's nothing to really worry about. We just need to…stay in the moment."

"Even in the rain, on a dreary summer day," Myra added.

"Mm-hmm," said Arthur. Then, he squinted his eyes, and turned to look at his friend. "Where did you get that from? What you said before about going places with heart?"

"Confucius," Myra answered simply. "One of the first things about philosophy that Merlin taught me."

Arthur looked back out at the water, almost sullenly. "I miss my lessons with Merlin," he sighed. "Since I'm supposed to be, what- twenty years older? - I'm not exactly opted to be under his instruction anymore. But, if there's anything, it's how we used to practice like lunatics in the library."

Myra's heart glowed.

"Do you still think you can crush me, under your sword?" she asked teasingly.

"If I caught you in a slow moment, maybe." Arthur shrugged, inching closer to Myra although he didn't sound so sure.

"Not if I caught you first."

Myra pounced a little on her feet, flicking her hands out as though she were about to cast a magic spell. But she gasped, and then grunted loudly, as Arthur caught her wrists, and held her there. Holding her place for a second, Myra then jerked her hands to go behind Arthur's back, lifting her legs at the same time, going for Arthur's soft spot. With a forceful shove, Arthur clasped his fingers harder around Myra's wrists, and lifted them back up above his heads, lurching her to a stop before she could make her move with her legs.

"You're good," Myra had to whisper.

"Feeling a little rusty without me?" Arthur asked, winking at Myra.

Myra had no words to form an answer. Something in her was glowing like a fresh spring day. Observing her best friend's face, as they holding one another in battle stance, felt like coming back home after this adventure would be over. Her battle instincts were kicking in, recognizing this position, but somehow she couldn't listen to them. It was too precious to have Arthur where he couldn't be coddled by Guinevere, or pulled into battle talk with Lancelot and the other knights.

He had that look of a king in his eyes, but he was twelve years again. No one in this time existed but them.

They were both silent, in the stillness of the moment.

Until a thought occurred to Myra.

"Have you seen Merlin lately?" Myra asked, while she loosened her grip on Arthur. "He hasn't shown his face for a long time."

"Must be hard at work in the library, maybe," Arthur suggested. "Well, I'll send a call for him later on."

"Perhaps," Myra agreed, straightening her clothes, and stepping off of the bridge.


	22. Blunder of Champions

**Chapter 22: Blunder of Champions**

Side by side, Myra and Arthur walked from the bridge to the door they had come out through. The rain still splattered the grass, but it wasn't a bother to them. Myra was in exceptionally high spirits since the near-tangle she and Arthur had. The rush of nostalgia made her wish that everything- the lessons, the magic practice, the intelligent dinner conversation with Merlin, even little Tabitha's incessant chatter and giggles- could be true to this time as well. But then, what exactly had changed with her, Myra asked herself. She smiled all the way to her ears, suddenly wishing she could find her sister and give her a big squeeze.

At the door, Myra was kind of disappointed to reenter the castle, where, in less than a second, she could feel the regular frustrations of castle life in this time sitting on her shoulders again. And compared to the outside world, Arthur had been right about the castle being a little dim. Myra squinted while she adjusted to the light, sweeping the fresh raindrops from her sleeves, and pulling her braided hair away from her face.

Arthur pushed his crown back on his head, readjusting his bangs, so that his bright eyes looked ahead.

"Your Majesties," murmured a group of maids, while they bustled past with their baskets.

"Wait," called Arthur, just when the maids had passed. "Have you seen Guinevere?"

"Afraid we haven't," one of them answered, "not since early this morning."

"Thank you." Arthur turned around, and scanned his eyes across the space.

"So soon to find your queen-to-be?" Myra had a hard time keeping the disdain out of her voice.

"Whatever is wrong with being a good king and looking out for the woman I'm going to marry?" Arthur asked her. When Myra didn't answer him, he shook his head, and stepped up to her. "Well, in any case…thank you, Myra," he said softly. "I had a good time out there."

"Me too," Myra said, in a voice just as low.

"And besides," Arthur added, "I was going to send for Merlin too, you know, find out where he's locked himself up now."

Myra cocked her eyebrow again.

Arthur returned her expression, playfully squeezing her shoulder, before he walked away.

Myra crossed her arms over her chest, and tapped her foot, as she gazed after her friend. When Arthur had disappeared around the corner across the room, Myra stayed where she stood. Her exceedingly happy mood had somewhat dissipated since Arthur decided to go locate Guinevere, but she didn't feel like sulking around. Instead, she quickly turned on her heel, and headed back for the door that she and Arthur had come through from outside. Pushing it open, she crept through the doorway, and gently closed it behind her.

She felt strangely empty being back outside without Arthur, but at least she could feel calmed by the gentle sounds of the rain. Myra stepped towards the walkway that led back to the bridge, but rather than starting down towards it, Myra merely stood still, and took in the spectacle of everything.

The first thing her gaze went to was the tiny brook at the bottom of the great hill. The grey-blue water was trickling along as it had been just moments ago, when she and Arthur were on the bridge. And for a few moments, she lazily watched the little waves carry themselves down the brook, and then beyond, into the dense forest beyond.

Myra didn't stop observing the water there. She trailed her eyes into the forest, picturing what might lie between the trees. But then she found herself stifling a chuckle. In all the years she had spent in the castle, she had never once ventured into those woods, much less explored what could be beyond them. She had always supposed that there was just enough to do in the courtyard, but even so, she was quite surprised.

Somehow, as Myra leaned casually on one foot, keeping her arms folded, she found her thoughts going back to when Morgause had taken her to the Loe. She remembered now the great sloping hills that circled the lake, and the trees that dotted the landscape. The hill before her reminded her very much of those same hills from the Loe, and now, when she strained to look past the tops of the forest trees, she could almost make out the summits full of grass the same lush color as those from the Loe.

"Maybe…?" Myra wondered aloud.

But suddenly, with the pattering of the rain, she heard a twig snap.

Myra sucked in a breath and snapped her head around. She saw nothing except the castle wall, and the shaking plant life under the rainfall. Muscles tense, she turned her body to face every direction, keeping her eyes keen for any sign of life. The space around her was empty.

This time, Myra didn't call out for someone to answer her. She just played statue, listening for the sound to repeat itself.

Minutes passed. The rain still fell, seeming to patter louder than it did before.

Tentatively stepping forth, Myra looked around the side of the castle, and then touched her tiptoes to the grass, finally going into something of a stride away from the door. Her feet barely made a sound in the wet grass, and she didn't dare breathe too loud.

"Jenny…" A soft, masculine voice barely whispered behind the next curve in the castle structure.

"What are you doing here?" a higher-pitched voice responded.

"I knew you would be out here," said the man. "There's too much commotion for you to be missed."

"But Arthur," said the woman called Jenny. "He will surely be trying to find me."

Myra slapped a hand to her mouth to cover her gasp. She nearly slammed herself back into the wall to keep from leaping out at the hiding couple, though she still kept her ears open.

"No one will look for you in this rain," Lancelot said gently.

"How do you know?" Guinevere wondered out loud. "The knights are at congregation, and their special quests, but not everyone in Camelot is as a simpleton as you think."

"Whatever do you mean?" Lancelot asked. "You cannot be worried about anything while I'm here with you."

"Oh, Lance, no." Guinevere's voice was even more hushed now. "You fool yourself. If ever I have known a person with the strength of five knights, and eyes sharper than an owl's, it is the princess. It'd be a joke to claim we could hide from her eyes, or the other knights, for the remainder of our lives."

"Jenny, do not be afraid…"

"In God's name, stop it!" Guinevere commanded. "Lance. I'm sorry, but I do wish we never said our greetings to each other, from the day you were knighted. Then we would never need to hide away from the world that will scorn us for the sin we are committing ourselves to. And…" A shaky breath escaped her. "What about Arthur? I am due to marry him."

Myra heard Lancelot take a breath to speak, but Guinevere stopped him short.

"I love Arthur like you do," she whispered. "I could never allow myself to watch the two men I hold so close battle each other for me. Think, please, Lance. People may die because of us."

Myra tensed her hands against her mouth, and against the castle wall. She could not process a word she was hearing. For so long, she had feared what _could _happen, thanks to Lancelot and Guinevere's secret affair. But suddenly she began to feel her shoulders drop, and her breathing more prominent while she listened. Guinevere's words were like soft music to her ears, and at the same time, the jitters still swam in her stomach.

"You must be making a jest if you think I'm ever going to leave you," Lancelot said.

Silence followed.

"Lance," said Guinevere. "After this day, we ought to forget about each other, and make believe that we ever spoke. It's for the better of Arthur, and his kingdom, if you leave me alone."

"I love you."

The soggy air was quiet, but the passion igniting between Lancelot and Guinevere could be tasted from all around. And in spite of Myra's immense dislike for the people she was listening to, she felt the warmth of their feelings, just barely embedding itself into her. Still, she could not believe what she was hearing coming from Guinevere.

Thanks to the queen-to-be's spur of better sense, the end of the fatality that could destroy everything was coming close.

And yet, Myra couldn't bring herself to move from her spot.

She gazed around her, making further sense of the situation at hand, finally locking her eyes on a piercing blue pair of eyes with a frame of snowy hair.

"Do it," he said.

Myra gulped in a mouthful of air to keep from openly gasping. She swept her hair back, and exhaled, though she fixed her eyes into the man's icy gaze hard.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked, almost tauntingly.

"Yes, Your Highness," said another voice. "What is it you are waiting for?"

Myra's heart leaped as, from behind the man, came a dark-featured, hollow-eyed face, who brandished a tarnished knife at his side, in a sheathe that was withered from use.

"Agravaine," Myra addressed him.

"Princess," Agravaine responded in the same tone. "The traitors are only around the corner. Surely you don't think it's so hard to address them as the double-crossers they are."

"Go away, Agravaine," Myra told him. "I don't need you telling me things I already know.

Agravaine's eyes spit fire. "Well then, why, in the name of the Lord, have you not gone to them?" he hissed.

"You want this still, don't you?" the man added, with a curious, but knowing, smile towards Myra. "It's about time to finish the plan that you never finished with me. Remember your king."

Myra could not shake that last part off.

She found her step again as she retreated back into the castle, inquiring several servants, and climbing up and down several stairs, until she spotted Arthur's bright golden crown among the burgundy walls.

"Arthur!" she called, and he turned around to her as she came up to him.

"What, what is it?" he asked, returning her expression of surprise.

"It's Guinevere," Myra said simply.

Arthur's eyes further widened, and he looked suddenly like he had lost something of great value. "What? Well, what is it?"

"You'll have to see it for yourself," Myra said as she took Arthur's arm, and pulled him across the floor with her. He yelped as he was suddenly yanked off his feet for a second, but Myra had them back out the back door in less time.

"Why won't you tell me anything?" Arthur asked as he stumbled forward.

"I _told _you!" Myra grunted. "I can't say anything without you first seeing it."

Stomping through the grass, Myra took Arthur towards where Agravaine and the man were still standing. Promptly, they got down on one knee, and bowed their heads, each addressing the two royals.

"Can either one of you tell me what is happening here?" Arthur wanted to know, gesturing at each of them in turn.

"We'd be more than obliged, Your Majesty," said the man. "See, the two of us were simply on a leisurely walk, and, lo and behold, we saw the queen walking into the castle- with a man on her arm."

"Maybe it was just a knight," Arthur said, shrugging.

"It was," the man explained. "But we don't think she was merely handing him a little token of favor. Come. We saw them go this way." He pointed behind him, towards where Myra had previously overheard the lovers' conversation. Then he and Agravaine strode in that direction, with Arthur and Myra behind them.

As Arthur looked on, with the same lost expression, Myra whispered a few words to the sky. Several glittering streaks materialized from her hands, and they flattened themselves against the wet grass, taking the shapes of individual footprints. At first, they were far apart, but then they started to bunch together, looking smaller and smudgier, as if whoever had made them had broken into a quick run.

Myra grinned shortly at her successful spell, walking ahead of Agravaine and the man, erasing the footprints as she followed them.

At last, she led the group through a castle door and up a staircase, climbing it until they reached the very topmost floor of the castle. They could still hear the rain patting the roof, watching it while it dripped down the windows. The daylight in the windows showed the footprints still cast upon the floor, leading down past a corner wall, and then to a door at the end of the corridor.

Erasing the footprints with a sweep of her arm, Myra pounded down the corridor, slamming her feet the way her heart was beating at her chest. And as Arthur and the others caught up to her, she put her ear against the door, hearing the words being spoken between the two people. She half-smiled.

"Myra…" Arthur started to say.

"Open the door, Princess," the man said lowly.

Planting her feet firmly, Myra reached for the knob, while Arthur tentatively stepped up beside her.

Myra could almost hear a chirpy, high-pitched gasp, as the door noisily swung all the way to the wall.

All surrounding the open doorway were still, as if trying to bask in the shock that ran through everyone's eyes. But after several moments, it was though everyone was afraid to move, to break the thick, church-like silence.

"Arthur." That was the only word that Guinevere could squeak out, her eyes refusing to glance at his.

"Guinevere." Arthur's voice, too, was a strained whisper, though Myra could detect the ache coming on. She resisted the urge to take his hand, instead focusing intently on the lovers that sat on the bed before her.

Lancelot and Guinevere were both, once more, silent, as if they thought one word would set the room afire. Neither of them averted their gaze from the floor beneath their bed, leaving the silence to hang.

"Well, what are you doing, gawking like that?" Myra wasn't afraid now to let the force and emotion come through her voice. "Either you get on your knees before royalty, or renounce your places in this kingdom, and _go_!"

Without hesitation, Guinevere stood up from the bed, and bent to the floor. Lancelot wasn't slow to follow her.

"So?" Myra drew the word out nice and long. "What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Guinevere inched her head up, so that her glassy eyes were barely facing Myra, but she quickly slumped herself back down in defeat. "Nothing. That which you can already see, is all there is," she whispered. "Please forgive us, Your Highness."

"It's not up to me to decide the payout of this insolence," Myra said simply. "We'll leave it to your _king_." She gestured beside her, as if to present Arthur to Lancelot and Guinevere, but she only was waving to empty space.

"Arthur?" Her question went unanswered, even by Agravaine and the man next to her, who only grinned cruelly down at the two lovers, caught in the act.


	23. At the Pyre

**Chapter 23: At the Pyre**

As Myra fell asleep that night, her mind was jumbling with the sense of accomplishment that she felt she might never shake off. The fluttering of victorious butterflies was ever constant, and she absolutely reveled in it. Putting Guinevere and Lancelot in their places was good- no, better than good. It was as if she had wiped out an entire army of villains without any outside help, and yet she hadn't even broken a sweat.

"It's over, Princess," the man had told her afterwards. "Once Guinevere is executed for her adultery with that knight, everything will be all right again."

Myra had nodded, although her heart felt sour looking at his face. She looked between him, and Agravaine- the killer of his own mother- and felt both the warmth of certainty, and the cold of looking at their sneaky grins. There was pleasure beneath both of them, without any sympathy for what could happen to Guinevere and Lancelot as a result of their deeds. In a way, she was reminded of two selfish children who liked watching the toddlers get spanked for falling down the wrong water well.

Despite that she was excited to see Guinevere taken care of, it was hard to not imagine Agravaine looking down upon the lady with his hand on his knife in its tarnished sheathe, and the familiar snow-faced man sneering at her with his fierce blue eyes.

Who _are they?_ Myra asked herself, while slowly, the darkness of her room swallowed her, putting her into a deep, dreamless slumber.

…Until her mind started to go numb.

Myra snapped her eyes open, parting her lips while a blade-like pain drove through, making it seem like her skull would explode from the pinching and grinding. She instantly knew what it meant.

A picture started to come into her mind, throwing itself upon her like a swarm of wasps, and as it did, Myra felt her body arrest itself, stopping almost dead in wake of the vision.

Darkness. That was what she saw, with the gentle glow of a lonely torch. The stone walls stood tall and cold against the night, without a sentry to guard them. The moon was still a crescent, so its light was minimal in the inky sky. Crickets shared their songs in the grass, never stirring.

For a long moment, Myra let herself fall victim to this tranquil scene, forgetting the way her brain was spinning in her skull. She closed her eyes, in spite of how her heart still banged from the onset.

In sync with the songs of the crickets, soft boots stepped across the gravel, slow at first, but gaining speed through the space.

A series of hollow breaths puffed alongside the footsteps, like a summer gust in the dank air.

Myra lazily fluttered her eyes open, watching for the sounds to take form, though she couldn't see right away in the dim light. She didn't speak, or move. Just waited.

Out from a stone archway by the torchlight, a figure emerged, dressed in a dark cloak, the fine velvet hem dirtied by gravel dust. A hand lifted out from under the fabric to touch the wall, feeling around as if the figure were blind. A head of dark hair glowed under the light, turning up to glance at the flames flickering above him, moving his eyes to observe the deserted castle yard.

"We leave now," he whispered, so low that Myra couldn't make out his voice straight away.

And then, when he gestured behind him, another figure, clad in a cloak as dark as the man's, appeared beneath the torchlight. Hesitantly, a pair of slender, young hands reached up to the dark hood, and pulled the thick velvet away from their head. A lustrous veil of long hair the color of tiger lilies streamed out from her cloak, framing a face like a frightened child's.

"Where will we go?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter where," the man answered, reaching for the lady's hand. "But we cannot return to France, or to your home in Carmelide. We'll be found within the week for certain."

"I'm frightened, Lance," the lady whimpered.

Myra's insides leapt, at just the same time that the harsh contracting in her mind intensified, and in that instant, she was yanked backwards into something velvety soft. She no longer saw the couple standing beneath the torchlight, while the agony of the vision slowly washed from her like cold water.

It took Myra a moment to realize she was lying back in the rustled sheets of her bed, still trapped in the late night dark. She saw nothing now save for the light of the crescent moon outside her window, and she looked to it quickly, to be sure that she had fully awakened.

Sure enough, the moon still shone in the midst of the dark blue-black, outlined in a mystic, milky glow. The same thing that hung over all of Camelot, all of England.

All of England…

Just, _who…_?

What…?

"_I'm frightened, Lance_."  
Myra shot back up the moment the words came to her mind. She looked back up at the moon, and then right to her door. Not wasting a minute, she plunged her feet into her slippers and wrap, getting to the door in less than three steps. She opened the door slowly, but then realized something else. If Lancelot dared to run away with Guinevere tonight, she would need more than plain physical force; she couldn't relay to them both that she had the powers of a sorceress. It was a dangerous notion, if Lancelot was leaving armed, but Myra knew she would need help.

And she knew exactly where to get it.

Myra made a grand gesture in a circle around her, as she remembered Morgause doing, and thrust the picture of her destination into her thoughts. Hot hair rose her loose hair from her shoulders, feeling the twisting in her stomach while the spell commenced.

In less time than she could think, Myra felt her feet dig into a rocky, gravel-like surface. She stumbled before she stood on solid feet again, fixing her clothes while she ran to the first door she saw on a long row of cottage-like homes.

"Hello?" she called, opening the door. "Hello, is anyone in here?"

She had to yell out a few more times until finally, she heard the upstairs level of the cottage creaking. A lantern's light shone bright orange against the scratched walls, while a sleepy-looking young man trudged down the stairs.

In the light, Myra noticed Gareth, who blushed bright red as he laid eyes on her in her nigh clothes, bending over in a slow bow. "Your Highness," he said, stifling a yawn. "To what…what do I owe to your visit?"

"Gareth," Myra began, relieved, "there is trouble up at the castle. A due of traitors are escaping!"

"Who?" Gareth asked, still a little drowsy.

"Lancelot! And Guinevere!" Myra said loudly, as she raced for the door. "But please, no questions now. Just grab your sword, and I'll get more help." She didn't wait to see Gareth's reaction, and before he reached the top of the stairs to take his sword and shield, Myra came back with Gawain, who carried his own sword tightly at his side. Gaheris popped up behind them, dragging along a grumpy-looking Agravaine.

"Brothers! Princess!" Gareth shouted, breaking into a run. In a single lunge, he flung on his boots, and swung his scabbard to his belt, throwing himself down the stairs. The force with which he tossed himself in front of them shook the floor, but pretty impressive as to how fast he appeared again.

"That's enough, I think!" said Myra, as she broke from the group. She turned around a corner where the knights couldn't see her, waving her hands and speaking in a hushed whisper, while she conjured up five strong brown horses. They reared on their hind legs while they trotted out to meet the knights.

"Where…?" Gareth started to say.

"It's no matter where these horses came from," Myra stated, tossing herself upon one of them. "We've got to get to the castle."

The knights climbed aboard their horses, each of them giving their steeds kicks in the sides before they galloped up the gravel path, past more humble cottages and empty merchant stands. Behind them, they barely heard the other knights stirring, calling after the group while they neared the castle.

Myra and her group quickly left the other knights behind, when they stopped at the castle gates. The sentries there stepped back, forgetting to bow to the nobles in their startling.

"Two traitors to the crown are escaping," Myra stated, pointing beyond the gates to the back of the castle, where she had seen Lancelot and Guinevere leaving.

"I'll send for help," the first sentry responded, racing away.

"Open the gates," Myra commanded the other sentry, before she gestured for the knights to follow her into the courtyard. They charged across the grass and cobblestones, rounding the corner as they circled the entire castle. Finally they faced the stone wall that divided between that back courtyard and the land beyond, slowing when two figures appeared beneath the torchlight on the wall.

"Halt!" Myra shouted, putting up her palm as she yanked her horse to a stop.

Lancelot and Guinevere both bent their heads, but didn't get on their knees.

"Why don't you bow?" Agravaine said snidely. "Her Royal Highness has commanded it so!"

Lancelot raised his head, if just a little, and even then, his eyes were starting to blaze. "You dare raise your voice against the lady Guinevere, sir?" he asked calmly, though there was appalled question beneath his demeanor.

"Soon enough, she will not even be a lady," Agravaine retorted. "Crimes against the crown are more than worthy of death. Had you not realized that before you took one another to bed so swiftly, to secretly betray the trust of His Majesty, King Arthur?"

Both Lancelot and Guinevere looked up sharply with utmost shock in their eyes.

Agravaine's eyes glinted, even in the minimal moonlight. "Therefore, I suggest you do what the princess told you the first time you both so foolishly betrayed your love. Either return to your quarters"- he glanced off to another part of the castle, where it was dank and dark, and a tall pole hung with a looped rope over a closed trap door- "or march right to the hangman's noose."

"Mercy," Guinevere whimpered. "Mercy, please, good princess. I beg only mercy of you, and of Arthur's noblest knights." She gestured with a shaky hand towards the Orkney brothers, her eyes going glassy with fear.

"Unfortunately, Lady Guinevere," said Myra, "it is none of my business to say whether or not you and your cowardly champion will be the next to hang. It is King Arthur's place to-"

"Your Highness, if I may intercede," said Agravaine, "this knight, apparently the very best, dared put his foot in Arthur's path of righteousness, to leave this kingdom without detection. He is a kidnapper if I ever saw one."

"Not so, if the lady wants to run with him," Gareth piped up calmly.

"Nonetheless," declared Agravaine, with a stone-hard look in his eyes, "a knight has stamped with all force upon the hand that fed him. He is ungrateful, and unrepentant to his deeds. Thus, we shall find out now how strong he is with such errors on his shoulders." He reached to his side, and a long blade appeared from its scabbard, shining, and leaving its glint on Agravaine's face like the glow of crystal. "Defend your honor, Lancelot!"

Lancelot slowly rose to his feet, with a solemnity that seemed to say he would not answer to such a request. Guinevere turned to him, looking like a rabbit in the path of a fast-approaching carriage.

And then he dove beneath his cloak, which flowed through the space like a lady's grand skirt, as he met Agravaine's gaze with fire blazing in his eyes, and in his blade.

Agravaine leapt off his horse, swinging his sword to meet Lancelot's. Guinevere screamed, while the silence became filled with clanging metal and shouts of effort. She whipped her head around, and turned to run away, her skirt blowing with her speed.

"Don't let her go!" Myra shouted instinctively, and she drove her horse after the fleeing lady. When she caught up to her, she yanked the reins, so that her horse reared on its hind legs, stamping its hooves in Guinevere's path. The lady gasped, stumbling to a stop.

"Come, Gawain!" Myra called to the knight, and he turned his steed to follow the princess's voice. "We'll escort Lady Guinevere back to her room, and we'll be sure she doesn't get any ideas about getting away."

"Aye, m' princess," said Gawain said, while he took hold of Guinevere's delicate hand. He pulled her hand up into the air, hoisting her upon his horse. He mumbled something to her, before he rode off around the castle.

Promptly, Myra got off her horse and stood in her place while her hands started to heat up, glowing a gentle yellow. Then she charged towards her knights, who were gathered in an interchanging circle, each of them taking turns to fight Lancelot, who, much like in the tournament the day he was knighted, didn't stop until he had somehow gotten his opponent down.

Myra didn't try to join the circle, instead attempting to make it easier for the knights to conquer Lancelot. She whispered incantations under her breath one after the other, casting her magic upon almost every inch of the ground the fighting stepped on.

The fighting looked like a cross between an actual knight battle, and a brawl between some children. They shouted back and forth at each other, Agravaine had the air of a conceited bully, and Gaheris was throwing himself every which way onto Lancelot, sometimes trying to body-slam him with his enormous weight. Gareth seldom shouted, though his blade flashed most frequently, and he seemed to have the most luck getting to Lancelot. Watching him, Myra could suddenly recall what Gareth had said when Lancelot first came to court- that the gallant new knight could be everyone's best friend, even Gareth's. How ironic, she thought, that two good friends could be switched to enemies within seconds…

"Gaaoowh!"

A strangled yell, sounding like a throat was closing in and out, shattered the medley of grunts and gasps, and Myra let go of the spell she cast against the ground.

Lancelot slipped on Myra's spell, though that didn't stop him from pulling his sword from out in front of him. A body fell before him, the great gut of the man streaming blood to the grass.

Gareth, who before had been preparing to take Lancelot from his brother, now stood still in absolute horror at the bloody mess. Agravaine leapt in his path to continue the fighting, though Gareth didn't try to help him.

"What are you doing?" Myra yelled, rushing towards Gareth.

"Gaheris!" Gareth yelped, bending down to his fallen brother.

Myra pulled Gareth harshly back to his feet. "Help Agravaine!" she commanded. "He needs you!"

Swiftly, Myra magically levitated Gaheris off the ground, and carried him away from the battle. She was hesitant to leave Gareth and Agravaine without her magic, but she didn't like to see Gaheris dead amongst his fighting brothers, so she retreated quickly. To be sure, she spoke a few special words towards Lancelot, and hurried on her way.

She came to the other side of the castle, vanishing inside through a side door. She scoured the hall for a staircase that would go upstairs to an empty room, where Gaheris could be kept until proper burial, but instead, saw a great, bulky figure heading her way.

"Gawain!" she cried.

"Princess!" exclaimed Gawain. "I did as ye told me. And I've caught word o' th' sentry. The guards're comin', and…" His breath slowed down, while he laid his eyes down on the soaked body behind Myra.

"Is…that…?"he started.

Myra patted Gawain's shoulder, then slowly pulled him in for a sympathetic squeeze. "Gaheris," she quietly clarified. "I was taking him inside to find a spare bedroom. We'll have to keep him until he can be buried."

"Aye, a lil' respect would d' 'im some good," Gawain said slowly. "Ne'er got much while 'e was 'live. Everyone thoug' 'e was brainless or jest no' talented 'nough."

"I share your feelings, Gawain," said Myra, while she carried Gaheris through the door. "I'll bring him upstairs, and we'll go back to help Gareth and Agravaine."

"M' brothers!" Gawain exclaimed.

"Don't worry!" Myra dashed across the hall, dragging Gaheris on an invisible magic string behind her, her footsteps resounding on the stairs like they were elephant feet. To Gawain, it felt like several hours, feeling the death of his brother, before the princess bounded down the stairs, and ran around the castle before he could make out that she was even there.

"Princess!" Gawain called out after he while he too ran with all his might. And then, from around the castle, he heard the soldiers' chain mail going _chank! chank! chank! _in the chaotic night. He hastened to join them, pulling out his sword again, though his heart was still heavy with loss.

He made ready to swing his blade when all of a sudden, he noticed everyone standing still before the battle scene.

Lancelot, with his sword in hand, was stuck to the wall by the torch. A sticky yellow substance had him bound to the stone, so that only his arms and legs could move. He struggled against the goo, trying fiercely to pull himself free, while two bloody bodies marked where he had been.

Gawain found Myra in the crowd, staring between Lancelot, and the two dead men, with a mixture of disbelief, and almost heartfelt spite, on her face.

He looked down, and he realized the princess's emotion.

In a puddle of red, soaking into the gravel, Gareth and Agravaine clutched at their weapons, loose in their paling hands, the surprise disappearing from their dilating eyes forever.


	24. Punishment

**Chapter 24: Punishment**

With the atmosphere in the castle, it might have seemed like rainclouds were stationed overhead. The congregating at the Round Table the following day after Lancelot and Guinevere's escape attempt, was hushed and solemn. Next to Gawain, three empty table spots screamed back at the rest of the knights, as if the ghosts themselves had returned to reclaim their positions.

Both Myra and Arthur had been reluctant to attend the congregation. Myra dressed slowly that morning, putting on the first gown she saw, letting her hair hang loose in her face, rather than plaiting it back. And Arthur's part of the Table was particularly quiet, since his usual friend could not make it. _Especially_ since said friend was to be tried for treason. It was plain to see that such a thought made Arthur's blood boil, but also, as cold as ice.

The knights observed their king, sitting back in their seats like they were all about to fall back to sleep. The cathedral was dark that day, while the entirety of Camelot was under cover of grey clouds. The summer heat lingered, increasing the tension and seeming desolation of what was at hand.

So, that afternoon, Arthur and Myra trudged back to the castle throne room, followed by the other knights. Gawain in particular was close at hand, keeping his arms erect at his side, as he nearly stomped across the ground beside Myra. His muscles were taut, his lips in a straight line beneath his red beard. And his eyes were always looking straight ahead, with his brows furrowed.

It didn't surprise Myra to see such restrained emotion behind her knight friend's eyes. She could feel his pain, seeming to think the same thoughts too. Lancelot was no longer deemed a knight in her mind. So now, thanks to the grisly murders of three of the Orkney brothers- followed by absolutely no remorse on Lancelot's part- he was an adulterous killer.

And surely enough, Guinevere would share the same fate as him.

Marching up the marble stairs to the thrones, Arthur grimly turned around, and, carefully sweeping aside his robes, he sat down, with Myra beside him. The knights stood in a row off to one side of the room, while on the other, there was Tabitha and a few other nobles. Myra barely took note of the fact that Merlin wasn't there beside her sister.

Gradually, the room was filled with more nobles and townspeople, piling off to the sides of the throne room, to make space for the last two people to enter.

Once everyone was still, Arthur raised his hand.

"Bring them forth," he called, and swiftly, two guards appeared through the doors, each one of them carrying an arm of the prisoners. Both of them were dressed from head to toe in white clothes that looked like centuries-old nightgowns, seeming to have been stripped of everything fine about them. Lancelot's once-shiny eyes were darkened with fear, and Guinevere's hair was matted and oily. In spite of her beauty, she appeared like a ragamuffin peasant while she was taken, barefoot, into the room with her champion next to her.

Watching them come in, Myra gave them her cruelest and most regal look. She didn't mean to show any sympathy for what had been done, for, as Agravaine had said shortly before he had been killed, their deeds were worthy of death.

Arthur gazed down upon Lancelot and Guinevere with hard eyes, though seeming very pained. He leaned forward in his throne.

"Sir Lancelot. Lady Guinevere," he stated.

"Your Majesty," the two prisoners said together, in almost hushed whispers.

"You understand why I have requested you come to me," he said, "the way that you are."

Guinevere looked at her white clothes in deep frankness, and Myra rolled her eyes.

"I shan't wait to say, that we do, my good king," answered Lancelot. "And that, for said crimes, we are very sorry for what circumstances have come about because of them."

"Then…perhaps a trial of ordeal would be just the thing for you both," Myra spoke up regally.

Lancelot and Guinevere averted their gazes to her, with Lancelot giving her a look of both excitement and a little fear.

"Not yet," Arthur said to Myra. "I don't think anything can be proved by just a trial of ordeal." He turned back to the prisoners in front of him. "I_ know_ now, Sir Lancelot, what has been happening all this time, since I saw you both inside the room together."

The crowd started in hushed conversation, and Guinevere looked around with the same deer-in-carriage-path expression.

Arthur held up his hand again for silence. "But I must ask one thing, Sir Lancelot. Were you aware of the fact that Lady Guinevere, to whom you were apparently taking a fancy to, is my queen-to-be?"

Lancelot was quiet, though Myra could clearly see the wheels turning in his head. She knew that he wouldn't dare lie to his king's face, or his best friend's for that matter.

"Frankly, yes, I am, Your Majesty," he said. "I was there the day that Jenny's father came to speak of the engagement."

Myra winced at the sound of Guinevere's nickname, and no one else in the room reacted differently.

"'Jenny'?" said Arthur gently. "Is that what you like to call her?"

Lancelot nodded. "Yes."

Myra was half-surprised to not hear Guinevere's bubbly, chirpy laugh at hearing that beloved nickname. But then again, she had to commend the lady for not making such a dire mistake. To do so was pretty much asking for a death wish.

Arthur didn't speak for a long moment, leaving the room to whisper in tones of confusion and anticipation of the king's answer to the adultery. The knights and Tabitha remained silent where they were, although Gawain was watching everything with an unusual owl-like gaze, like he were analyzing the opposition on a battlefield. Tabitha just looked nervous.

"And Guinevere," Arthur finally said, though his voice was a little bit hushed. "Were you…when…did you know that…that you were attracted to Lancelot?"

All heads swiveled towards Guinevere, who gasped and looked down upon the floor, refusing to let her gaze meet anyone's. Her hair fell from behind her shoulders, gradually hiding her face. It might have just been a trick of the light, but Myra thought she saw the lady's eyes get watery.

"I wish I knew right now," she responded. "Speaking, for the first time, of something so personal is difficult, my sweet king."

Arthur's hardened eyes were slowly losing their stone. He relaxed his grip on the arms of his throne, but he didn't sit back. Once more, he was quiet, and Myra noticed him flicking his eyes in another direction. Tabitha met his eyes, but she just shrugged, and frowned sympathetically.

_Merlin, oh, where are you? What do we do, if Guinevere won't speak? _Myra thought, and she, too, glanced towards Tabitha and the nobles, and then at Guinevere, who looked halfway between the floor, and Arthur's throne.

Maybe it was up to Myra to finish this.

"Is…is that all you have to say for yourself, Lady Guinevere?" Myra asked with the same hard glare. "Maybe Sir Lancelot can speak for you, then."

For a time, Lancelot was also quiet, and when he gave Guinevere the same look of helplessness, Myra worried for a moment that perhaps she had misspoken in her action.

"I can't say anything, except that my lady speaks honestly," he said. "You see, we knew, after a time, what we had gotten ourselves mixed up in. And we knew the consequences, really, we did. The trouble is that, I was too gracious a knight, Your Majesties. It was my duty to act out the laws of chivalry, and especially in the words of your noble quest of right and might, my king. Lady Guinevere is a special lady. She is a tender little flower who must have a champion. And so, I took it at my duty to be that man, to quest anything in her name."

"And yet, you still came back to her?" Arthur asked, almost quietly.

"When you knew that she and Arthur would be wed?" Myra finished.

"In the words of my beautiful lady, speaking of something like this for the first time is difficult."

Myra shook her head. "Do you only say that to save more time before your inevitable punishment?"

"Of course not, Princess," Lancelot said, bowing his head. "I swear to you, we speak the truth."

"Nonetheless," Myra continued, "it sounds like you were being disloyal to the crown. You say that you were just doing your chivalric duty, Lancelot, but still, you made romantic advances to the queen-to-be. That's a place you should never have gone."

"Princess Myra speaks correctly," said Arthur. "I'm sorry, to the both of you, but, knowing both your places in Camelot, they still can't protect you from the consequential outcome. So…"

Lancelot and Guinevere froze, and there was no more hushed conversation from the onlookers.

"Lady Guinevere, of King Leodegrance of Carmelide," Arthur began, "You will still keep your place in this castle, but many restrictions will therefore be given. At no point in the day you will be able to go somewhere alone. A maid will accompany you, and you will lose all your privileges of touching any man you speak to. If you do, what privileges you have left will gradually be taken away. But then, once they are all gone, you will no longer be welcome in Camelot."

Guinevere's pale face was damp, little tears pooling from her eyes, while she faced the floor. "I understand, Your Majesty," she whispered.

"Lancelot du Lac," Arthur started again, "as of midnight tonight, you will have but fifteen days to get out of Camelot. You will not be obligated to visit at any time, nor will you quest for the sake of the Round Table. Otherwise, your home in France will be found, and will be destroyed."

Myra saw Lancelot's face tense up, as if he were holding in a loud gasp of fear, and he opened his mouth to speak, to beg, perhaps. After being stripped of everything he held close in Camelot, especially the secret love of his lady and his knighthood, Myra expected Lancelot to show as many tears as Guinevere. However still, the ex-knight kept himself composed, and faced the king with forced dignity.

"A word, Yer Majesty?" a voice from the line of knights spoke up, amidst the whispering in the room.

Arthur and Myra turned to find who had spoken, while Gawain, in his finest clothes and a sword hung at his side, appeared from the group. His hair was neatly combed, his posture composed, although there was purpose in his step while he approached the throne. He bowed before the royals, and rose slowly.

"If 'tis appropriate a' this time," Gawain said bravely, "I shou' like t' propose an option t' th' convicted."

"Go right ahead, Sir Gawain," said Arthur, raising his hand as a signal.

"Right then," muttered Gawain, while he stood on the bottom stair below Arthur and Myra's thrones. He looked at both Lancelot and Guinevere, and kept his arms at his sides. "Sir Lancelot, m' old friend, ye must realize that 'tis not too late t' save yourself from wha' rotten things yeh've done. 'T wou' b' a shame t' see ye leave this earth one day, and no' have found repentance for going 'gainst the king.

"Lancelot, just hours 'go it seems, I watched th' brutal ways in which ye killed three o' m' brothers. M' closest kin, if I ever 'ad some. It shocks, an' downrigh' outrages me, tha' you- th' most noble of Arthur's knights- was th' cause o' their absence 'ere t'day.

"So, as a noble knight of Arthur's righteous Table, I offer ye a penance by a priest- for th' blood o' m' second-youngest, Gareth. His heart was the purest, second only t' yers, before all this." Gawain held out his hand to Lancelot, as though beckoning him forth. "Take it or leave it."

Lancelot looked between Guinevere beside him, and to Gawain. The pain was evident in the way he could hardly look at his fellow knight for more than ten seconds altogether. But finally, he stood up from his knees, and turned his face up to Gawain's when he was to his full height.

"I cannot accept, Sir Gawain," he said solemnly. "What's done, has been done."

Gawain's face, once so pale with grief, was slowly changing color. He looked like he was blushing, but then he just looked outright furious.

"Then we fight," he declared. "Tomorrow. T' th' death."

Myra felt her toes slowly curling in her shoes, and heard the conversation break out in the crowd. Out of the corner of her vision she saw Tabitha flinch, and step backwards so that a larger group of noblemen was in front of her. Her lips were sealed shut, her hands trembling while she moved away.

Lancelot slowly raised his hands, as the gravity of Gawain's proposal sunk in. "Sir Gawain-"

Gawain stepped closer to his fellow ex-knight, his fists tight so that his knuckle bones were showing prominently. "Ye heard wha' m' brother, Agravaine, said before ye _killed_ 'im," he growled. "Ye migh' not be a knight anymore, but you're still a man. And a man must defend his honor till he can't bleed another drop!" He paused, and puffed out his chest. "So says the code of the Knights of the Round Table."

Lancelot was quiet, facing Gawain with forced dignity. His features, though sharp, were showing the tire of all this. And Myra knew it; Gawain had once admired Lancelot like everyone admired Arthur, but now it was like King Lot and King Pellinore's feud all over again. The very idea must have pained Gawain to his very core.

"Ye will face me, Lancelot," Gawain said. "And no one else'll say anything 'bout it."

"Then..." Lancelot bowed his head over, and then his whole body. "You have my word."

The throne room was still abuzz with nervous words, and finally, Arthur stood up, and raised up his hands for silence again. He lowered them, and turned his gaze to Lancelot, who now stood back beside Guinevere.

"It's settled then," Arthur stated. "We are done."


	25. The Beginning of the End

**Chapter 25: The Beginning of the End**

Just after Lancelot and Guinevere had bid their goodbyes, and Myra could stand the sight of them no longer, she sent them out of the room, to begin their punishments. It felt exciting, and somehow sort of disheartening, to watch the two be taken away.

_Guinevere had a long future ahead of her, _she thought. _She and Arthur would not have made the best royal match, but at least then she wouldn't be in such trouble. Everything she's ever known is about to change._

Myra sat back on her throne, just barely absorbing what had happened. She couldn't believe it, and she wished now that the mysterious man, who had even suggested the capture of Lancelot and Guinevere in the first place, could be here to see the traitors gone. She pictured that sneaky grin, glowing against his albino complexion, and the way his eyes would fall back on her, as if saying congratulations for following through with the plan.

But then, like with the prisoners that Arthur had sentenced, she was glad she couldn't see the man's face, and the diabolical nature showing beneath the grey irises. She still kept the vivid memory of when Agravaine had killed her aunt Morgause, and the slithery way that he seemed to associate with the snow-faced man. Like she said, they were just like a couple of bulky, older boys who took enjoyment out of watching the trouble of their schemes unfold so flawlessly.

Myra shook her head, not wanting to think too much about those two, switching her gaze to Arthur, who also leaned back in his throne, looking both a little relieved, and a little weary. His eyes were half-closed, and the crown about to slip on his head. Myra couldn't blame him; it was hard having to summon two precious lives to uncomforting sentences.

"Hey," said Myra, shaking his arm gently. "I'm proud of you."

"You think I did the right thing, giving them what I did?" Arthur asked softly.

Myra nodded. "I have no doubt in you," she said reassuringly. "And I saw the look in your eyes, Arthur. Having to give away your best knight, and your bride-to-be, because of their carelessness would be difficult for any king." She brushed her hand along his arm, so that she almost touched his hand; Arthur flinched and then he relaxed. There was a glow, gradually coming back into his face, and although it wasn't his happiest, Myra was still pleased to see it at all.

Then, like a wink of starlight, his grin was gone.

"Whether good luck will come to either Lancelot, or Gawain, I won't know," he muttered. "At least, until tomorrow."

…

It seemed as though perhaps the sun wouldn't show itself for a long time, because the following morning was as grey as the last. There didn't look like a sign of rain, but the way Lancelot and Gawain marched to meet each other outside the castle, the grass might as well have been met with splattering torrents. Gawain was wearing the heaviest armor he owned, with his sword still clutched in a scabbard, hanging proudly over the side of his horse like a Christmas ornament. Around his waist, was draped a silky green sash, tied about him like a part of a grand cape, glinting even though there was no sun. That sash seemed to be the mark of his nobility, as though a very special lady had given it to him for luck.

From the back doorways of the castle, Lancelot rose to the dawn. He didn't carry much on him, and his armor was definitely not as elaborate as Gawain's. His horse looked like a peasant's foal, almost like a mule, though it could still carry him across the grass as well as any other. He didn't struggle to carry his lance while he balanced himself; as a matter of fact, he appeared to hold as well as he did when he was first knighted. All he lacked was a true lady's favor to lead him into this battle.

A kiss from her- his one lovely lady- was missed even more heavily.

But it didn't matter to Lancelot that he looked like a lowly townsman compared to the great Gawain of Orkney. He knew what he had to do, what he had to accomplish, in spite of the fact that he was no longer a knight. He still had the spirit of one, the gall to see himself through the fray with a fighter as renowned as Gawain.

And Gawain would have to be on the ground begging for mercy, before Lancelot could be done.

And then, there he came. Looking like a god in his magnificent armor and valiant steed, and a green sash wrapped about his hips. His long red hair was gleaming while it fell from his helmet, flashing strawberry, while Lancelot rode to meet this opponent. The young knight straddled his tiny horse, tapping the handle of his sword with his elbow as he held the reins.

The knight in the green sash grunted, almost smirking, at Lancelot.

"Good morning t' ya," he said softly, when he and Lancelot were just feet apart.

"Well met, Sir Gawain of Orkney," Lancelot replied in the same tone of whisper. "May you enjoy a pleasant battle on this lovely day."

"Hardly lovely," said Gawain.

"I'm only making an effort to bring us to good terms, before we make do with the fighting," Lancelot responded meekly. "It should all be part of conduct."

"I suppose tha' wou' b' all ye ever know," grumbled Gawain sarcastically, while he drew his sword. "'Cause I don' think ye've ever known a true fight, like I promise t' give."

"We'll just find out." Lancelot put down his lance, and made a move for his own sword at his side. "The best of luck to you, good fellow."

The two men dismounted their horses, which both whinnied and backed up from the scene when their masters gave the signals. And for now, the fighters faced one another, weapons in hand, and striding in slow circles, waiting for a first move. Their faces mirrored that stone-hard stare of concentration, though Gawain's gradually started to outwit his opponent's.

And then, suddenly, Lancelot lashed out his blade, and met Gawain's with a clang that echoed off the castle walls behind them. Gawain grunted, and shoved Lancelot's sword off of him, forcing him back some steps. Though Lancelot didn't stumble, Gawain could tell he had been thrown off guard.

"Well met," Lancelot said. "I must commend you."

"This is only th' start," said Gawain. "If ye think 'tis not, it'll b' a long, long day."

Gawain took a swing with his sword, barely missing Lancelot by inches. Lancelot came back with his own weapon tight in his fist, sticking like glue as he maneuvered Gawain's blows, one after the other. As if he had been doing so since his birth date, the way in which Lancelot moved was like he was trying to make sword-fighting into a dance. A beautiful dance, with several light steps, and intricate movements of his arms and wrists.

Even so, Gawain kept up with this seemingly-invincible swordsman. He knew what had to be done, considering his father had once been a formidable fighter. He could recall, from several years prior, how King Lot had even fought for the English throne after Uther Pendragon had died, killing so many so that he could take the greatest chance of eternal glory. Gawain knew stories of blood and entrails, of intimidating battles that left almost no one alive, and how Lot never stopped explaining to his sons that they would see days like these the rest of their lives. Gawain felt his days might just be beginning.

Because this was the knight- the _ex_-knight, now- who had sickeningly murdered the three other Orkney brothers, and would pay for his misdeeds.

"I knew ye'd come t' defend yer honor, Lancelot," Gawain said, "but I guess I fergot to imagine your God-blessed skill."

"So you admit early defeat?" Lancelot asked, both in disbelief and jest.

"Ha! You're talkin' to Sir Gawain of Orkney, whose father fought t' claim what used t' b' Uther Pendragon's kingdom. Now, tha' which rightfully belongs t' Arthur."

"I would gladly still fight for him," said Lancelot, pulling his sword to the side.

"Well, then, ye should've thought of that before ye took the lady to bed," snarled Gawain.

Lancelot frowned hard at the other knight, his eye catching the green sash around his waist, and suddenly, he was overcome with a flash of white-hot emotion. He yelled, and pushed his sword almost directly into Gawain's big gut with a resonant clang. Gawain gasped out a breath, and Lancelot took his shot by banging his opponent's shoulder with his hilt. Gawain stumbled to the ground, and Lancelot thrust his sword point at his neck.

"Don't you dare to bring Guinevere into this! None of it is her fault." Lancelot stood still, but with his legs apart, as though he were daring his opponent to rise back up again.

"Th' lady Guinevere wasn't the one who killed m' brothers!" said Gawain, who dove out of the way to grasp his hilt, before he launched himself off the ground, and back into the fight.

The clouds brightened overhead, while the day wore on. The grass around the area where the two men fought was torn apart, ripped up into clumps of dirt and bent grass blades, which still flopped around with the breeze, and the consistent moving of their feet. Their swords stuck into the ground at times, coloring their blades brown with the dirt, and flung the earth around like clay in a child's hands.

Any passerby near the castle never called out to the men, nor acknowledged that they were even there. Aside from the mad banging and clanging of Gawain and Lancelot's fight, only the gentle sounds of activity in the village came into the background. The birds' merry singing, and the swaying of the tall plants in the wind, was hushed by each man's yelling, his calls of short-lived victory, and numerous snubs to his opponent.

"Don't ye wish ye 'ad stayed in France?" Gawain asked.

"My heart was pure from the beginning, to serve King Arthur!" Lancelot said back. "I said from the start, Sir Gawain, that I would serve God and country from then until my death."

"Well, ye didn't do a good job o' it! Thanks to ye, m' brothers are gone. Even Agravaine didn't deserve such a death!"

"Could you say the same for Pellinore and Lamorak? What King Pellinore did to your father was by pure fluke! Now is that such cause for your everlasting vengeance against a brother knight?"

Gawain didn't pause in his fighting. Rather, he brought his sword harder down upon Lancelot. The blow rang through both their ears till they winced, and a substantial dent was wedged into Lancelot's breast plate.

"Ye've got a lot o' grit t' talk 'bout m' father, and Pellinore, in th' same sentence." Gawain's eyes were like fire, gritting his teeth together so that he could have mashed them in half.

Even as the dusk rolled onto the horizon, the notes of battle still sang out like deathly church bells.

Myra could hear the battling from her bedchamber, as if it were occurring right outside her window. She barely recognized Gawain's and Lancelot's voices, while they yelled between each other, still trying so hard to kill one another.

She lay down, yanking the blankets so that she was covered up to her chin. She lazily kept her eyes on the ceiling, once more mindlessly studying the woodwork, before she groaned and sighed at the same time, tugging at her bed sheets so that she was entirely covered, folding her huge pillow over her head.

Early the following morning, everyone in the castle awoke to the great swashbuckling in the courtyard. Only, this time, the sounds seemed more distant, as if either the fighting had slowed down, or perhaps had moved on somewhere new.

Or, maybe it was because of the new proposal that Gawain was making, as he tried to bring down Lancelot for the thousandth time since the previous day.

"Th' peace o' Camelot is disturbed by our ordeal," he was telling Lancelot. "The kingdom is quieter, like a grave, and I don't like it tha' much. I can see th' pain tha' our wonderful king must have on 'is face, all thanks t' ye, Lancelot. And I'd hate fer Arthur t' suffer having to watch us. So, tonight, we travel outside o' Camelot t' finish wha' we 'ave begun!"

"You're a worthy opponent, good knight," replied Lancelot. "Thus, I accept your terms."

…**.**

The grey sky covered Camelot in the same dull overcast as before, bringing with it the quiet solemnity that made it seem like time had stopped. No one walked near the places that Gawain and Lancelot had fought on, as if they thought it carried some kind of curse, or bad luck.

But by the end of that day, quiet was all that anyone could hear. And no one could be certain as to what had happened to the two fighters.

Arthur had a wearisome expression the next day, barely speaking when he had dinner with Myra and Tabitha. Merlin was absent, but this hardly surprised anyone.

"Does anyone even know where he went?" Tabitha asked anyway, raising her hands in question.

Arthur and Myra merely shook their heads. They only opened their mouths to swallow the morsels on their forks.

It was early that night, when the three royals started towards the stairs to their bedchambers. They trudged up one by one, though Myra managed to catch Arthur as he was about to enter his chamber.

"Arthur," she said.

"Yes, Myra?" he asked, turning around in the open doorway.

She lifted her face to look at him. Then, she placed her hand upon his shoulder, and sighed softly. "I'm sorry," she responded. "I can tell that Gawain and Lancelot fighting is not something you're taking lightly to heart."

Arthur nodded his head. He glanced over his shoulder into his room for a moment, but slowly turned to face his friend. "No, Myra, it's not something I can easily let go of. They're my knights. They're like family to me, like you and Tabitha and…and Merlin." He frowned, but stepped aside. "Come on in. We probably should talk a little."

Myra jumped at the opportunity of talking alone with her best friend, though her brooding expression remained, as she followed Arthur to his bed. They both sat upon the thick silk blankets, leaning down to get comfortable.

Arthur flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, scanning the molding and slowly inhaling a breath. "I just don't know, Myra," he finally said.

"About…?" Myra pressed.

Arthur looked at her. "About the Round Table. Since Pellinore and Lamorak were killed, and now, with Gawain's brothers all gone, it feels like things aren't quite so merry anymore. It's like one by one, the knights are…losing their sight as my band of soldiers, and…and that they are slowly turning against each other."

Myra sighed. "That's part of the problem," she said. "Gawain just wanted to fight Lancelot because he killed Gareth, Gaheris, and Agravaine trying to protect Guinevere. That's not chivalrous at all, if you ask anyone. And, since Gawain loved them so much, he thinks Lancelot ought to pay…with his life."

Arthur looked down upon the sheets. "Whatever happened to the burly, brawny bloke we all knew he was?" he asked.

Myra merely shook her head, remembering how she had laughed with Gawain and his brothers. It was like recalling lost memories of family that had since then passed on, and it made tears sting in Myra's eyes. She sniffed, and straightened herself, though quite tiredly.

"The true question, Arthur, is what is- or will- happen to the Round Table, because of Gawain and Lancelot?" she said. "Everyone knows now that they're fighting. But nobody knows who's going to be killed first. Either way, you can say for sure it won't be a beautiful view."

"Of course," Arthur agreed. "I'd rather see the end of the world than the end of the bonds of trust between the knights."

Myra made a face, as if she wasn't too sure. She leaned closer to Arthur, who stared at the ceiling intently.

"So, what will you do?" she wanted to know.

He didn't take his gaze from the ceiling, but only blinked a few times. But slowly, Arthur drew his head from above him, and down to the bed. His eyes flicked from left to right, the blue irises full of deliberation. At last, he looked at Myra, who watched with beating heart.

"They're going to move somewhere, where no one will watch them kill each other," he answered.

Myra paused before she spoke up. "How far do you think they're going to move?"

"Far enough that they think no one will see the Round Table start to fall apart." Arthur's voice was grim, while he started to move from the bed. He was slow, deliberate, as though he dreaded walking away. But instead of going towards the door, he went to the window, which looked out to the other side of the beautiful landscape by the hill.

"It's going to be a long, hard journey," he said, "if someone doesn't step between them before anything should happen. Because I can't watch the Round Table fall apart any more than it has."

Arthur looked back at her, his eyes harder than the marvelous sword's great blade. "As of tomorrow, Myra, in case I don't come back for a very long time, I am handing the crown- and all of Camelot- to you."


	26. Kings and Queens

**Chapter 26: Kings and Queens**

Almost reluctantly, Myra appeared through her bedchamber door, feeling the cold like tangible ice, despite the warmth of the summer sun in the room. She was still dressed in her nightdress and wrap, so she had only just awakened, surprised to find that the castle hall was actually pretty quiet. Servants didn't scuttle past her with morning tasks and noblemen didn't wander close to the far-off windows and red-velvet upholstery chairs. If she didn't know better, she would think that she was the only one left inside.

She saw the morning sunlight through the window in the corner of her eye. It hadn't risen too high yet. Maybe Arthur hadn't left yet.

Then there came the harsh melody of a fanfare, of trumpets calling a song to a crowd of cheering people. In a second, Myra could recognize the music, and she followed it down the stairs, and through another hallway, where she had heard the trumpets the loudest.

"Good people of Camelot, I send forth my greetings to all of you, on this warm July morning…" The voice was clear and regal, but quavering in the slightest, muffled by the stone walls. Myra knew where she had to go, shuffling her slippers on the floor as though a tiger were after her.

"…I realize this is a sudden decision, that will probably make some of you question my sanity, but I think that it is for the greater good of this kingdom."

The townspeople far below the castle murmured between themselves, as Arthur said to them once more.

"I am leaving today to make an attempt at peace between two of my noble knights, who have unfortunately begun battle over the causes of a few recent family deaths. The two knights have moved to another unknown region of the country, where I'm sure they believe that no one here will follow them. And since I cannot risk extending any more misfortune to you all, I will go myself."

Myra put her hands on the door, and pushed out enough to see that the crowd of townspeople extended all the way to the edge of the village, and that Arthur was leaning on the balcony railing with his head held high to address the enormous gathering.

"So, in my place, I am placing Her Highness, the Princess Myra, with the trust of my crown, and this kingdom."

Myra stepped through the door without her knowing it, striding close to the balcony railing where Arthur still stood. The crowd continued to murmur beneath them, and some of them were still staring up at the balcony.

"Oh, Myra, you're here!" exclaimed Arthur, and he jumped back a step at seeing her.

"You expected me?" Myra asked, putting one hand on her hip.

"Well I thought perhaps I could just give the announcement while you were asleep, and hand you the crown afterwards," he whispered. "However, since you're here…"

Arthur turned around and held his hands up to the watching townspeople, and Myra followed his hands out towards the village below.

"My people, meet your new temporary ruler, Her Royal Highness, the Princess, Myra Swann."

Myra looked out below her, and just as she felt the ring of the crown come upon her hair, she saw the entire kingdom bent forward in a wave of bowing. And suddenly, she felt her stomach turn over, and her skin seem to shrink.

For now, she was a princess. But for real.

…**..**

It had been almost four hours since Arthur had left Camelot. And even now, Myra couldn't shake the shivers off of her skin, although she was wearing a warm velvet robe that made her look like a real queen, while she sat on her throne. She frowned. She sure didn't feel like a legitimate ruler, much less a queen, in spite of the fact that until Arthur came back, everybody was going to turn to her for decisions and she would take charge of the Round Table- or at least, what was left of it- and everything in between.

"I wonder if this is what it felt like to be Arthur, when he and I were both twelve," she said. With a long sigh, she shut her eyes briefly, picturing the scared little boy that she remembered pulling the sword from the stone in the village so long ago. And suddenly, he was so far away, trying to stop two equally strong men from destroying each other, while she was all alone.

Up until now, Myra had never really realized what it meant to be a true ruler of a kingdom like Camelot. She could almost literally feel Arthur's place as king falling on her shoulders like heavy packs that had been locked onto her. And suddenly, she wondered if maybe, so many years ago, just when Arthur had become king, that she could have handled the responsibilities of ruling as he did. Knowing what to do about everything, from wars to treaties and earning the respect of so many wary people- it would have gnawed right through her.

"Well, I hope he comes back soon, and can talk some sense into those two idiots." Myra leaned back in her throne, and looked up at the ceiling, wishing she could have gone with Arthur to settle the matter with him. Although, if that were so, somehow she couldn't imagine Tabitha running the kingdom on her own, since Merlin was gone and the other knights were off who knows where.

Just where _had _Merlin gone?

That night was lonely and dim. With half of their dinner company gone, Myra and Tabitha could only stay quiet. And even so, Myra could not get used to the fact that she was now the main object of the servants' attention, and a kind of attention that they had ever only shown Arthur. It was as though she were a goddess in the flesh.

Tabitha, once so lively, was more silent than a rock, and Myra frowned sadly at her sister. She supposed that Tabitha was speaking for most everyone in Camelot; if Arthur wasn't around, it simply was not the same as before.

Even later that night, when the moon had risen, Myra couldn't even hear the nightingales and owls far off in the forest, and everything else in Camelot was as silent as a dark tomb. And still feeling the heavy weights that Arthur's absence left on her, Myra didn't sleep until much later, when it was nearly dawn.

Not even the morning sun, or the call of a servant from the kitchen, could awaken the princess. So Tabitha trudged in, and nudged her sister awake, sitting on the edge of the bed as Myra dragged herself out of sleep.

She groaned, feeling another sad day in the making.

By the third day, she could feel a tradition in the works, as this time, rainclouds pattered at the window.

Myra slowly dressed in her robes, and let herself float down the stairs, and down the lavender carpet, to her throne. She plopped herself upon the squishy velvet upholstery, and leaned back, closing her eyes, and wishing she could wave her magical hand, and bring back Arthur and Gawain and Lancelot.

Well, everyone except the very latter.

Heaving a deep sigh, the princess exhaled, and forced herself not to think of them. Instead, she put her mind to work on a different task. She played a little game with herself, trying to think of how many spells she could remember right off the bat, and those she couldn't remember, she would look up later and try out again.

Going to the library actually didn't sound like a bad idea. Maybe she could bring Tabitha along, and listen to her sing a song. She hadn't heard her little sister sing since the celebration after all. And this time, some lively music could make her feel better, instead of hateful and dreary.

"Your Highness."

Myra stopped, and drew her eyes away from the ceiling, lifting her head from its comfortable position to look at her visitor. She felt her heart jump slightly, when she spotted the albino-faced man standing on the lavender carpet before the throne. He was bent forward, his mop of silver-white hair flopping over his face.

"Hello," Myra said simply, but warily. "What is it I can do for you?"

The man raised his face, looking towards the princess with bright eyes. Something about that look sent chills across Myra's skin, and she pushed herself further back in her throne.

"Can't a lonely man visit his princess once in a while?" the man said, walking up the stairs to Myra with a slow, deliberate pace. His arms were spread wide, as if he were all too overjoyed to see Myra as she was.

"I suppose," Myra answered, "but…but, um…" She bit her lip, and clutched the sides of her throne apprehensively.

The man knelt down again in front of Myra, though his eyes wandered slowly towards the sides of the royal chair. They rested there for some time, and suddenly, Myra was afraid to breathe.

"Your Highness," he began. Then, he was quiet.

"What?" Myra said quietly.

"Your hands are shaking," the man answered gently, as if he were a father who noticed a scrape on a child's knee, and wished to bandage it. He reached for her hands, but Myra was quick to react.

"Don't touch me," she said, pulling her hand back.

"Whatever is the matter with a man worrying about his princess?" the man said, as he looked up at her with big, doe-like eyes. "After all, if Arthur will not be back for a long time, his beautiful princess should be in good health. Especially if more knights like those oafs, Gawain and Lancelot, should break into great big fights."

Myra shook her head. "That won't happen. The other knights are still as loyal as they've ever been, and they wouldn't do anything of the sort!"

The man half-grinned.

"But you don't know the other knights, like you did Gawain and his brothers," he whispered. "You don't know what they will do." By now he was inching close to Myra's throne, so that his hands were resting on the arms, and his knees just touching the sharp edge of the seat.

"What are you doing?" Myra's voice shook, while she tried to keep herself steady against her increasing tension.

"Get comfortable, Princess," the man said in a slithery voice. "As of today, I'm a part of this kingdom for a very, very long time." He smiled, and Myra forced herself not to grimace at the expression. "As a matter of fact, why don't you fetch a servant to clean these thrones? They're looking just a little smutty for _both_ our royal bottoms."

Myra stamped her foot down, and drove her eyes into the man's face. "Whoa, wait just a minute there!" she said firmly. "Who said anything about _you _having a royal bottom? As far as I know, you're not even a knight, much less a person of royal blood. And just what's this all about, anyway?"

The man put his hands behind his back, and instantly produced a roll of paper tied up with a thin piece of twine. He frowned a little lopsidedly at the paper, but his eyes still glinted with a playful wickedness, which Myra was quite sure to be devoid of any benevolence.

"I truly hate to bear such dreadful news to the princess who adores her king like a brother," the man said, "but…"

"But…what?" Myra said.

"Read, and find out for yourself." He handed her the paper, and Myra unfolded it with quivering fingers. Over the top of the paper, she could see the man's grey eyes watching her own blue eyes scan the scripted words, as slowly, Myra's insides fell sour, and her muscles felt spastic.

The letter slipped like butter through Myra's hands, and she fell so hard onto her throne that not even the thick velvet cushion could protect her from the hurt. She fell back into the chair, and slammed her hands into her face, trying to shut out the cruel half-smile that the man was giving her.

Myra's voice came out in sputtering gasps, so that she could hardly speak the words that threatened to tear her heart in pieces, and spit them all over the throne room.

The man merely nodded, speaking aloud what Myra could not say. "The two foolish knights have conquered one another," he said, "and Arthur has been killed."


	27. Hail, Hail

**Chapter 27: Hail! Hail!**

Myra's stomach roiled around inside her, and suddenly her throat felt sticky and dry. Hearing such news- that her best friend in the whole wide world was gone- made her feel like the world had vanished away, but she was now trapped on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go. No one to catch her while she fell into the dark.

"You can't mean that." Myra's voice was hoarse with the heaves that came through her heavy chest.

"A letter from the distant camp grounds should never be a lie," the man said. "Do you really suppose I would lie to my princess?"

Myra looked up at him through her blurry eyes. She once more noticed the subtle glare of light inside the man's expression, hating to look into them. Although, she found she somehow couldn't tear her gaze away. She detected something else, besides the almost fiendish delight caught behind the glare. Both the grey orbs looked at her, crowning the lips, which were a straight line, except for the curling corners. They inched up bit by bit, making the bright eyes squint, as if the light shining in them was too much.

Myra stood up.

"You're smiling," she noted carefully.

The man didn't react beyond holding out his hand, mimicking a cordial gentleman. "It's hard news, I realize," he said gently. "I too, am most saddened by it, as I'm certain everyone else will be once it comes upon them. And we can't have the princess fainting for lack of rest." He grinned further, coming close to a wink. "Allow me to bring you upstairs. Sleeping a few hours would do you good."

Myra stiffened. "What did I tell you about touching me?" she said through gritted teeth.

"I'm not forcing you to," he answered. "And I'm not even doing so now. I am only doing my part, as a gentleman of the court."

"What kind of fool do you think I am?" Myra responded. "'Cause I'm not quite sure if you know who you _really_ are, and that is a conniving schemer."

The man scoffed, bringing his hand down to his side. "You cannot prove such a thing on your own," he said.

"Watch me!" said Myra, and she scooted past him towards the door, her legs preparing to move her to the library staircase. Her velvet robes swept out like a great wave, and for a moment, she felt like a real queen-like figure, going to prove this foolish man about his place.

She was just going to walk through the archway, when the man's sudden reappearance made her leap back, almost tripping on her robes.

"I don't like playing stupid games with you, Highness," he growled. "I would hate for both of England's greatest monarchs to be gone, because you wouldn't comply with me."

"Why _would_ I do that?" Myra asked, placing her hands on her waist defiantly. She stared down at the man, challenging him to answer her, before she could bellow out a magic spell.

Even after several long seconds, Myra had been staring long enough to notice the fire flaring behind the man's gaze, and to feel the magic blooming between her fingers. She was almost itching for him to fight her, to conquer him, and finally put him in his proper place. Afterwards, she would truly see whether or not the letter was a hoax.

She just had to make her move. She twitched her hand from her hip, about to raise it.

But the man was quicker. He flung his hand towards her face, hitting it on her cheek so that Myra could feel the new mark swelling hot quickly. She reached up to feel the sore spot, but the man grabbed her shoulders, and with a shove like that of a giant, Myra stumbled to the floor. Her balance gave way, and she fell onto her back. She heard a series of heavy metallic clangs, while the crown rolled across the lavender carpet, and stopped against the opposite wall. Although before she could fully register the crown in front of her, the man raced towards it, and, taking it in his hands, placed it upon his head.

The sight of the defiant man, with Arthur's crown glorifying the man's messy white hair, made a hard lump take shape in Myra's throat. Once more, her stomach churned madly, and slowly, a surge of adrenaline coursed through her. She leapt from the floor, flinging her hand towards the man, and yelling out a verse of words. A puff of silver and purple sparkles sprayed from her fingers, but the man dove beneath them like a child rolling sideways down a hill.

Myra raised her other hand, tossing herself off the floor on nimble feet. She prepared to cast another spell, but in the corner of her sight, she saw the man's leg swing towards her, and she jumped up high. It hurt her feet, to come down so hard in her thin slippers, but she didn't care. Her magic conditioning had prepared her for times like these.

Sensing her opponent, she spun around, plunging her hand full of fire behind her. She felt the flames swing through the air while she moved, wanting to blast the life right out of this insubordinate creature. Her feet swung with her, like she was trying to fly. And quickly, she could feel the air whooshing past her skin, finally making contact with something. Myra's bare legs felt the flesh of the man's face, and she hurriedly remounted, waiting for the counterattack.

Myra felt her magic rolling throughout her body, like there was too much water in her stomach, and could hear it slosh about in the action. Taking a second, she clutched at her torso, trying to calm the power that had built up.

And then, an unseen force slammed into her midsection, striking her so that her legs gave out, and she slipped right to the floor. Any magic left on her hands sparked out and withered away.

A thorny point tapped at her throat, and she hiccupped, freezing in place.

"You dare try anything with a spell, you'll never cast one again." Myra's skin prickled with gooseflesh as the man spoke to her, and she shut her eyes, so as not to see the dagger pointed carefully at her. She took in a careful breath, but she yelped when the blade dug just millimeters into her neck.

"Don't breathe at all."

Myra just kept her eyes closed, trying to ignore the frantic walloping she felt in her heart. Her hands were frozen where the man held them bound together with his fingers, and once more, a chill shivered along her skin. Her limbs shook with the wave of cold, and the man only grasped her tighter.

Without her magic, or her space, Myra felt helpless, hopeless. Everything about her was cold and still and she wanted to scream, though she had to suppress it behind tightly-sealed lips. If she dared do anything, then her captor would be sure she didn't live.

And then, the greatest chill swallowed her, and she gave up her calm charade altogether, starting to shake. The man let go of her hands, and yanked on her hair, causing her to scream, as he tossed her away from him, onto a hard, ice-like floor.

"Enjoy your new home, Princess," the man sneered. And then, a door slammed, wiping out all other sounds, if any, that Myra could hear.

Because she was so cold, Myra didn't open her eyes, only clutching her sides, and tugging at her wrap. Her nightdress was so thin, but her wrap, despite being made of fine velvet, couldn't keep the frosty air out of her clothes.

What was this place?

A squeak broke the cold silence, and Myra flung her eyes open, to spot a mouse skittering across the stone floor. She flinched, scared at first, but then felt relieved to see the tiny rodent. Even so, that didn't stop the panic from spilling into her, and she glanced frantically about the dank room. There wasn't much light, and the damp stone walls gave no comfort at all, just forcing arctic air upon her.

Raising a shaking finger, Myra cast it in a circle, and she whispered something to the ceiling. A gentle red glow manifested around her, and Myra's face turned a gentle orange with the light. When she sat back down, the fiery circle glared brighter, and Myra took her wrap more tightly against her body. She closed her eyes with the peaceful, fire-like warmth descending onto her, and she lay down. In lazy comfort, she massaged the fabric of her wrap with her thumb, and sighed almost contentedly.

But just as she was starting to drift into sleep, the door whammed open a second time, and another high-pitched scream echoed in the vast space of the dungeon.

Myra rose up from the floor, hoping to see a familiar face, just as the door closed into the dark.

The woman was crying, wiping her face with her trashed sleeve. Her dark hair was like a bird's nest upon her head, her dress all askew over her undergarments. The voice was gentle and child-like, reminding Myra of a tiny infant.

"Tabitha!" Myra exclaimed, racing to grab her sister. She bound her in a hug, not letting go.

Tabitha's head moved against Myra's shoulders in a nod. "I asked him not to, Myra," she sobbed. "But he just took me…he…took me by my hair…and, he- he…he put a dagger at my neck…" Her words trailed off into frightened hiccups, and slowly, she started to fall to the floor, her fingers clinging to the floor while the sobs gripped her.

Myra wrapped both her arms around her sister's torso, and tried to pull her up. She had to stand back up to do it, as she quickly realized she wasn't picking up a scared little girl, as if she were back home again.

"Tabitha, don't start now," Myra grumbled helplessly, finally managing to get Tabitha to sit back up, and when she did, Myra rejoined her, keeping her hands squarely on her sister's shoulders, and not letting go.

"I'm right here, Tab," she said softly, and then, Myra could spot the tiniest bit of a grin coming back to Tabitha's face. Myra smiled back; she felt she might never remember the fact that her sister was a young woman now. Tabitha would always be a small, cuddly girl to her.

"I am sorry," Tabitha whispered.

Myra shook her head, holding Tabitha close. "It's not your fault," she replied. "It's mine. I was supposed to fight the bastard, but he had me fooled pretty good. Tab, I train day and night for times like that. And yet it's never enough!"

Tabitha shook her head, still buried in Myra's chest. "Myra, I really wish you wouldn't say that," she said. "You're the best fighter I've ever seen. Not even Arthur has ever stopped you, in all those practices you did."

"Well he wasn't a real enemy," Myra countered. "I could never hurt Arthur if I tried to. But that man was a force to be reckoned with. He actually tried to get me, and, well, he has. Both of us."

Tabitha rose her head out of her sister's arms, looking up at Myra quizzically. "Can't you use your magic to make the door fall?" Tabitha wondered aloud. "Surely Merlin would have taught you how to unlock doors."

"He didn't." Myra stood up from the floor, and, tugging at her wrap, she put her head against the door. There was just the hush of air through her ear, which surprised her.

"What do you mean?" Tabitha said, following Myra to the door, and putting her head up against it as well.

"Merlin only taught me practical things," Myra explained. "Most of the defensive magic, I taught myself. I mean, of course, Merlin watched me, but I did most of that by myself. You know Merlin."

"Certainly," Tabitha answered. "Before he disappeared."

A pang resounded in Myra's heart at the mention of Merlin. She put her hands down from the door, and hung her head, wishing that Tabitha hadn't mentioned her wizard tutor.

"What do you want for us to do?" said Tabitha, turning around with one hand still on the door.

Then, just before Myra could answer, the trumpets rang out, filling the castle with a kind of hollow joy. The distant clambering of feet, while people rushed to greet the fanfare, came to Myra' ears, while she turned to the door. She waved her hands in a strange gesture, while a gentle green light ate away at the door. A circle of light shone stark silver on the dungeon floor, and both Myra and Tabitha stuck their faces against the hole in the wood.

"Come forward, people of Camelot!"

Myra grimaced at the sound of that voice, and yet she pushed herself further against the door.

"I come before all of you today, with news, both grave and glorious."

The townspeople were hushed, but Myra could pick out the hints of conversation amongst them.

"Where is Princess Myra?" one voice came out, loudly and clearly.

"Please, tell all, good liege," another said.

Myra and Tabitha were startled by the outburst, but within seconds, the townspeople were all shouting, and calling.

"SILENCE!"

The voice rang like a thunderclap, and both the sisters ducked down below their peephole to recover from the sudden command. Slowly, they drew themselves back up, and listened further, to the silence that ensued.

"All of you calm yourselves!" the man said. "For as of this moment, a new royal will take the throne, in the continued absence of King Arthur, whom, I regret to say…from the very bottom of my heart…has been killed. Thus has been done at the hand of the brutal and utterly savage Sir Lancelot du Lac!"

The air was soundless, and then, above all other sounds that came, the whines and cries of some women wavered across the solemn kingdom, and almost instantly, the crowd fell back into stillness again.

"It is tragic," the man continued, "and it is with a sad soul, that I take the throne."

If the townspeople had been silent before, it was now like a grave.

"But where is Princess Myra?" the same curious voice asked moments later.

"What has happened, liege?" the other voice wondered aloud.

"Be silent! Not another word from anyone!" the man commanded harshly. "My word is the new law in Camelot. The princess is as unfit to rule this kingdom as a common cattle is stupid. Therefore, it is my right to take the throne as my own."

"The princess Tabitha!" some more voices cried shrilly. "She can rule us all!"

"_Off with you_!" the man yelled.

And then, there was a grim clanking of metal, as some guards marched down from the castle, and into the crowd. Once they had, the sounds and outcries from the people intensified, until Myra and Tabitha couldn't hear the angered, tyrannical yells from the man at the balcony. The height of the noise was like they were all smack in the middle of a tournament. Only the atmosphere was chaotic and frenzied with anxiety.

Tabitha slowly sat down on the floor, just below the hole, which closed back up under Myra's influence. Her hair fell over her face, and her shoulders shook with newfound chills.

"What…what do we do?" she asked again.

Myra followed her sister, where they now sat in darkness. They were both holding their breath, as if they were afraid to. But Tabitha inched her palm flat along the floor, till she touched her sister. Myra closed her fingers around Tabitha's quickly.

"I don't like this," Myra said to her. "Not a bit."

Tabitha scooted closer. "You won't let him do it, will you, Myra? You will get us out of here." She tried to speak with certainty, but Myra could see through her mask. She reached up, and took her sister close to her again.

"Soon, now."


	28. Inside the Crystal Cave

**Chapter 28: Inside the Crystal Cave**

The dungeon remained still for a while then. But Tabitha had railed a little at Myra, wondering why in the world she wasn't going to get them out of there while they were still breathing. Myra tried to explain to her sister that if they escaped too quickly, then the man-turned-king would immediately throw the kingdom into more chaos. They couldn't afford any more of that. Not while everyone thought that Arthur was gone, and when the kingdom was a hair width to crumbling to its feet.

"Give him some satisfaction, before we somehow make him tumble to pieces in the midst of his fun," she had said.

Tabitha gave Myra a funny look, but there was a smile behind it, and she didn't question Myra very much more after that.

While the kingdom trudged on behind their closed door, the two sisters were learning to live with their new conditions. Thanks to Myra's assortment of magic spells, they'd managed to make it more like home, with a fire in the middle of the room, and cozy blankets and pillows that sat around the fire-pit. It was like a camp site, with a generous amount of food and water. The chains and spare stones were all gone, since Myra had transformed them all into whatever she felt she and Tabitha needed. So, for a time, the princesses could live as though they were in their own bedchambers once more.

Tabitha sat now, huddled by the fire on her big makeshift bed. She had a great thick blanket covering her, and she combed her trembling fingers through her dark honey-colored hair. Myra was sitting at the door, peeking through the same peephole she had made the day that the kingdom fell under a new ruler. She despised sitting there, listening to the harsh commands, and the hushed whispers of the servants while they dashed about their daily work. Their voices had changed. No longer were they light and excited, but drained and tired. It was as though rushing around under the rule of the albino man had run them ragged, like a great fog had descended over their days in the castle.

But who could blame them? From what Myra saw through the hole, the castle was always very dim, even when she noticed that the weather wasn't that dreadful at all. The tapestries and decorations still hung, but they seemed very out of place. The servants who maintained them looked sad, even scared, and their skittish steps didn't echo very far when they went away.

It was disheartening, and while Myra knew what she was doing, in giving the man the temporary satisfaction, she still didn't like to observe while Camelot became a cloudy place, surrounded by prison walls.

_If Arthur were here, he might kill himself_, Myra thought, with a jolt in her heartbeat.

"Over here," came a whisper.

Myra turned her head, and saw a servant skitter down the hall, and meet up with another servant. They gathered quickly, putting their heads together, and huddling in a corner. Myra craned her head to see down the hall after them, and she cupped her hand around her ear, tuning in to their whispered words.

"The people are gathering," said one servant. "Have you heard? They're rallying in the village."

"What?" the other servant responded, slapping her hand to her mouth in shock. "Does the king know?"

"No, but pray to God he never learns of it. There'd be the devil to pay if the parade comes up announced. In fact, I would say nearly everyone here would be doomed if he finds out."

"What do you mean?"

"He can't ever learn that everyone in Camelot, even all of us in the castle, want the Princess Myra back on the throne."

Myra leaned further into the door, pushing her palm flat on the wood so that she felt splinters in her skin.

"We can't rally with them," the first servant continued. "We must carry on as if business were as usual. Act surprised, even scared. It's better to let the people carry this out on their own."

"Ah, yes. In the meantime, I wonder where the princess has gone. And the little one, Tabitha, too."

"Well, I doubt that whatever the king told us is the case, but we must keep our heads low. There is a storm coming, and you know I don't mean the sky."

The servants both went away, still speaking to each other, though Myra didn't tune in anymore. She'd heard enough.

The kingdom was going to have an uprising against the new king. Well, if he was a king to begin with. But in any case, everyone was taking a stand against him, and then it would be a good time to escape, and find Arthur.

She felt a swell in her heart at the very thought.

Myra whipped around, forgetting to close the peephole. "Tabitha!" she cried. "Tabitha! Did you hear that? We'll be out of here by tonight, I can promise you!"

Myra rushed to her sister, and, hugging her like a plush toy, told her everything that she had overheard.

…

By late that afternoon, the castle wasn't overcome with any change in atmosphere. The servants still bustled, and the guards stayed stagnant at the doors, and now, Myra and Tabitha sat stationed at the door. They both peered through the hole, watching as the castle grew darker with the waning daylight. They kept quiet, holding each others' hands tentatively, straining to hear the coming sounds of the rebellion.

Myra had her hand squeezed against the door again, and Tabitha stuck close to her sister like a knight to his horse, pressing Myra's hand. Her feet trembled, and she wriggled to let some more of her blanket fall onto her toes.

"Myra?" Tabitha whispered, just as she watched the red-orange sunlight stream down part of the wall.

"I don't hear anything," she responded.

Tabitha hesitated to speak again, taking in a slow, cautious breath. "Do…do you think they won't do it after all?"

Myra shook her head uncertainly, though she wished she could say for sure. No rallying meant no chaos, and no chaos meant no good chance of escape. Although, maybe she could think of some better way to get out, find another way of surprising the new king at the height of his new glory. Easier said than done, and much easier forgotten.

Tabitha sat upright.

"Do you hear it?" she asked, pointing out the peephole. She put her ear up at the door, and in the dimming sunlight, Myra saw the corners of her sister's mouth curl up. "It's them."

Not waiting to hear what it was, Myra also placed her head against the door, and didn't let herself breathe. She wanted to hear everything, and know for sure that it was their hope coming back to them.

A group of servants came past…

And then, some cheers- with some loud drumming, and tooting of wind instruments- pierced the air.

"_We are of Camelot! Camelot is of us! Here we come! We pledge our loyalty anew! Hail to the Princess Myra! Hail to the Princess Tabitha! Long live the royals of the Pendragon line! Long live Princess Myra! Long live Princess Myra!"_

To both the royal sisters, it was as if every sound in the world had become the voices of the villagers outside. Their voices rang out loud, and passionately,calling out as one collective cheer.

"They're doing it." Tabitha slowly turned her head towards Myra, her expression positively glowing while she did so. "Myra, they're doing it! I don't believe it!"

"Believe it, Tabitha!" said Myra joyfully. "Camelot is not lost yet."

Amidst all the chaos ensuing in the castle, both the princesses rose from their seats, and dropped their blankets, exchanging them for their newly-conjured royal cloaks.

"Let's go!" Tabitha crowed, twirling around.

But Myra didn't answer her.

When Tabitha turned to her, she was doubled over on the floor. Her hands were at her temples, her fingers grasping her head like a precious jewel. In seconds, her mouth was gaping open in a loud scream.

"Myra!" Tabitha thrust her clasp into place, and raced to her sister's side. She turned Myra over, and shook her vigorously, but she didn't respond. Finally, she grabbed Myra's face, but her screaming had slowly stopped, and her face was blank.

…

The swishy slap of water against rock was what brought Myra out of the stupor, brought upon by the grinding in her mind. The sound was kind of hollow, seeming to echo from a vast space. There was a dank smell of a place filled with water, but Myra could still sense the warmth of light.

She opened her eyes, and gasped to discover her new surroundings. Her brain still ached, telling her that she was not just dreaming now. And, instantly recognizing the state of her mind, Myra's limbs froze, and she would have dropped back down to the floor of the cave, if she hadn't been caught by a pair of slender, but strong, hands.

"Stand up again, darling."

The voice was gentle, but there was an authority in it. The smooth command in the voice snapped Myra to her senses, but she still couldn't stand up.

Myra faced the speaker, recognizing the silky strands of midnight hair falling about her face, and the dark robes that adorned her body. In the wavy light of the water on the cave floor, the glint in her black eyes shone like ebony. There was no malice in her gaze, just recognition of her magic daughter in the presence of this unknown cave.

"Morgan," Myra murmured.

"Your mother," the witch corrected.

"Where…" Myra began, "where am I?" She shifted her eyes around the cave. It was large and round, like the great dome of a chapel, with the walls sparkling like there were crystals embedded into the earth. But a closer look at the wall told Myra otherwise. She touched it, and felt while droplets of water dripped onto her fingers. Each drop sparkled in the light coming off the water that trickled into the cave from a large lake outside. Half of the cave was above the water, while the water came gently in little ripples, flowing into the cave, and then into the darkness beyond.

It was undeniably beautiful, and Myra couldn't disagree that she wished she could take a dip into the sweetly alluring water. In the sudden rush of excitement after the rallying had begun in the kingdom, a warm dip of water would be lovely…

A sound, like the strained note of a lady's song, came through the cave.

Startled, Myra turned around to catch the source of the sound, but she only saw the wavering of the water. The ripples flowed in green and brown, as though the elaborate fins of a mermaid were grazing the surface, mixed with the peachy color of skin. When the green caught the light, the sound came again, only more hollow and melancholy.

"Who is that?" Myra asked no one in particular.

"Her name is Viviane," said another voice. It matched Morgan's smooth, honey-like tone, but was more certain, and intelligent.

Myra turned once more to Morgan, and then, right beside her, a transparent woman materialized, bearing a thick gash all around her neck. Dark droplets had dried on her skin, looking like a liquid choker. "She is the sole owner of this cave, and the Lady of the Lake."

"Good to see you again, Morgause," Morgan said coolly.

"You don't look half terrible yourself," Morgause replied, folding her arms. She turned her icy gaze back to her niece, who was gawking so that one might have thought she was watching a resurrection.

"_What _is all this?" Myra repeated, gesturing wildly around the space. "This cave, the lady swimming in the lake…you two! What…?"

"Shush, darling, or you'll give yourself a headache you'll never wake up from!" said Morgan. "Add that to a vision, and you may only bring death upon yourself…!"

"Oh Lord, don't scare her before she even knows what is happening!" Morgause scolded. She strode towards Myra, and then gestured towards the lake, where the green figure swam. "That there, is the lady that has taken your wizard tutor from you." She said it as simply as explaining something in a book.

A blank stare tore across Myra's face, and she found herself gawking at the green lady in the water. "What…what do you mean she has taken him?" she sputtered. "I thought…I thought maybe he was just too busy to show up anywhere in…"

Morgan gave her daughter another hard glare, this time clenching her fists at her sides. "What did I tell you about giving yourself a headache?" she said. "That is the last thing any of us wants right now."

Morgause sighed, and she rubbed her neck awkwardly, smearing some of the dark blood on her skin. "Men are only human, my dear, but they're just like wild lions," she said. "Every pretty lady is just another piece of meat to eat up, and then spit back out. Well, in Viviane's case, she locked him away."

Myra sucked in a gulp of air, and glanced deeply at her aunt's eyes. "You mean, he's not really gone? Merlin can come back to the castle with me?"

"You only wish he could," Morgan said, though regretfully. "Viviane is a spirit with power, as are all spirits, darling. She caught sight of Merlin down here, and apparently he was easy prey enough to lure into her cave. Amazing, isn't it, that even the most knowledgeable of men can also have the least common sense?"

Myra half-laughed, and half-scoffed. "You didn't just say that," she said. "Merlin's got as much knowledge, and common sense, as the next sage old man. I don't think he would be stupid enough to run away with some water spirit, no matter how strikingly good-looking she was."

"Well, it seems as though he was," said Morgause. "He's been gone longer than you and Arthur can hope to believe. And, it is most unfortunate, my dear, but Merlin won't be returning with you."

Myra's limbs froze over with dread. "What do you mean?"

Morgan shook her head, and stepped up to her daughter with sickeningly slow steps. Myra's toes curled in her shoes, and she found she couldn't face her mother's soft, but expressionless, gaze. "Merlin is dead," was all that Morgan said.

Instantaneously, Myra's stomach grew hollow, and her body felt cold. She gasped out a breath, and looked up at Morgan, although she was afraid to. The expression on her face resembled a tiny girl asking for an embrace from her mother, though she knew such affection was virtually impossible.

"I'm not jesting, darling," Morgan said, in the same hollow voice.

Myra shook her head. "No," she whimpered. "No. No, no, no. You- you _are_ joking. And I'm just dreaming all this. This_ isn't_ a vision, and the two of you are not here right now! Pretty soon, I'll wake up, and me and Tabitha will get out of the castle!"

Morgan sighed deeply. "You stupid girl," she said. "Without Merlin by your side to help you, and the wrath of King Mordred against you, you won't even reach the front doors."

Myra stopped, and looked once more at Morgan's eyes, feeling her heart pick up speed in a second. "Mordred? Is that what you said?"

Morgan laughed. "Oh, dear me. All these days in the castle, and you don't know who Mordred is?"

"I know who he is!" Myra said. "But…what are you saying? He's the king? It...whoa, no. He's just a noble in the castle."

But then slowly, it began to dawn on her. Gooseflesh prickled at her skin while she pondered it.

The brutish attitude. The grey, bottomless eyes.

The knight with the white hair that she'd seen that one day at the Round Table.

His relationship with Agravaine.

_The fifth son…_

The bastard son…

The name of her mysterious helper was at Myra's lips, but it was stuck behind the apprehension building inside her. Her lips trembled, and her head felt light.

"Myra?" Morgause piped up.

She faced her aunt, with a hesitant turn of her eyes.

"Have you met my fifth son?" she asked.

Myra leapt on her feet. "Mordred?" she cried. "Mordred? Is that who you mean? Well, damn it, Morgause, don't you know what this is? I've been conversing with the enemy all along. And at this minute, the man I thought was helping me, is standing before Camelot, while the whole kingdom is rallying against him, and Arthur is out there somewhere!"

"I thought the news was that he was killed by that Lancelot," said Morgan.

"No. I know even more now that that letter was nothing more than a vulgar lie!" Myra said firmly. "Oh, God, I should have known who he was! From the very beginning! Everything was right there, in front of me! How could I have been so _stupid_?"

Morgan and Morgause were both quiet, as Myra stepped down towards the water and kicked the surface, sending a spray across the air, and to the opposite wall. The green and peach flash scattered through the water.

"Get out of here, you watery wench!" Myra yelled at the lake. "Touch another man, and you'll be nothing more than a pile of disgusting foam!"

Myra whipped herself around, and threw her fiery gaze at both her witch relatives. She saw both their sets of knowing eyes, and somehow, all she could see was the wicked gaze of Mordred. Thereby, she felt her magic brewing angrily, like a lingering tempest.

She had let Mordred take the throne, but soon enough, she would find Arthur and put him back in his rightful place. Her strong powers would make sure of that.

It was silent, before all at once, the grinding sensation in Myra's mind took her by storm. She opened her mouth to scream out, before she felt two soft, feminine hands grasp her face.

"Come back, Myra!" a tiny voice cried out. "Please, won't you come back!"

Myra snapped her eyes open, and as the vision faded away, she could see Tabitha, grasping her sister's cheeks, and still sitting in the dungeon, amidst the shouting, and screaming, from outside the door.


	29. Mordred Returns

**Chapter 29: Mordred Returns**

It was hard for Myra to sit upright, still feeling the weight of what Morgan and Morgause had told her. She hesitated to tell Tabitha, but when she finally did, Tabitha fell face-down into her blankets, crying out that what Myra had said wasn't true- not true at all. Myra took hold of her sister, and held her close, while she sadly said again that their wizard friend was gone.

"Merlin!" Tabitha cried, heaving herself with the snot and tears that dripped from her face.

"I know, I know," said Myra, stroking Tabitha's back. "But Morgan was wrong about one thing. We can get out of here still, even without Merlin's help." She choked up when she spoke the name, leaning her head down on her sister, holding her close.

"We will get out of here," Tabitha said. "Right, Myra?"

Myra squeezed her sister's arm, massaging it with her thumb. "Who took care of you when you were only a baby, and escaped an axe and the dark forces all in the same night?" she asked.

Tabitha sniffed. "You did."

"So, what moron can say that we can't do it again?" Myra wondered aloud, holding Tabitha like a precious baby, as she had that night so many years ago, when they had run away from home, and come to the castle. "I guess for now, we'll have to wait, and sneak out just when things are getting quiet."

Tabitha didn't say anything. She lay still, breathing steadily, and Myra soon followed her, lying carefully where she was. For several moments, she just concentrated on keeping Tabitha in close proximity, knowing that, for now, at least she hadn't lost her sister. Hopefully their father was all right too; they didn't want to lose him either.

"Love you, Tabitha," Myra said softly. "I'm not going to let anything happen to us."

"I love you too, Myra," Tabitha whispered. Then she was unusually quiet.

…**..**

Although she was still bubbling over inside from the vision, Myra still forced herself up from the ground, gently rousing Tabitha in the meantime. She crept to the door, and produced the peephole again. There was almost total darkness in the hall, with just a few rays of dusk painting the walls. Voices carried here and there, but it didn't look like a bad time to finally get out.

"Tabitha," whispered Myra, "get your cloak. We're getting out of here now."

In seconds, Tabitha joined her sister at the door, and Myra cupped her hands around the door handle. Gradually the knob turned red-hot, glowing bright orange, until it started to drip like candle wax. With a kick of her foot, the handle, and that part of the door, fell away. The door drifted open, and both Myra and Tabitha took deep breaths. Seeing the castle halls in all their space and kingly beauty was glorious, even in the dimming light.

Spotting two guards on either side of the door, Myra placed her hands at her sides. She spoke simply, and a purple gas wafted from between her fingers, and drifted about the guards like fog, making them fall to the floor, snoring, while their staffs clanged down beside them.

"Oh, Myra!" Tabitha exclaimed. "I thought we would never walk as free princesses again."

"Don't mention that," Myra said. "You knew all along we would. Let's go!"

They started down the hall, with their eyes open, but their steps confident. Myra let the sleeping spell waft before them, hitting anyone they saw, which was surprisingly not many.

Their gentle steps were abruptly silenced when a great scream shook the castle.

Instantaneously, Myra's fighting senses heightened, the hairs on her arms sticking up like grass. She was ready to pounce, but she suddenly recognized the anguished cry of Guinevere. She wasn't too far off.

"Guinevere!" Tabitha exclaimed, looking at Myra with utmost fear. "We must find her!"

The sisters followed the sound through corridor after corridor, beyond places even Myra hadn't seen in the five years she'd lived in the castle. From through the doors, Guinevere's repeated sobs were echoing, as if to tease Myra's senses in her increasing desperation. She almost had the false hope that she could open any door and find the pained lady waiting for a rescue. It even felt like she was going in circles, with every turn seeming exactly as she and Tabitha had left.

"Arthur, help me, please!"

Myra stopped short. She couldn't tell for a second whether the shout came from her mouth, or from Guinevere's.

In the excitement of the moment, Myra took a breath to answer Guinevere's cry, but then bit her lip to not speak. If there was an intruder, she wouldn't want to find Guinevere and also be faced with an armed assailant as well.

Thinking fast, Myra retraced her steps to follow the fresh yell, clambering up a steep flight of stone stairs. A thin sheen of sweat started to stick on her hairline while she made it higher, just starting to hear some more strangled yelps.

Her heart slamming, she pounded on the door where the voice was loudest.

Finally, the wooden barrier between her and the moans shattered, falling to pieces like the marvelous sword itself had smashed cleanly through. Debris rained down on the two figures backing away from the door, one of them giving Myra the hardest glare that ever befell a face.

"Princess Myra," he said in his slithery voice. "It's been such a long time since we chatted. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Nothing more from you, Mordred!" Myra said, pointing her finger menacingly at him.

Mordred stood up, leaving a crying Guinevere behind tangled in the sheets on the bed; her eyes were blotchy red and her skirt was inching dangerously up her legs. It took Myra great willpower to not gasp.

"I might have known you would break out eventually," Mordred sneered.

Myra glared back. "Oh? Think you're smart enough to keep _me_ contained? Well, now, at least Arthur's kingdom won't be watched by wicked eyes."

"One thing you've said correctly," Mordred said with a grin that made his translucent skin look exceptionally bony. "The kingdom is mine."

Myra snorted. "Ahem," she coughed. "Who's the princess around here?"

"But, I'm not the one who has been breaking his trust all this time," Mordred pointed out.

Myra was about to come back with a snappy retort, when she stopped.

"What?" She spoke so softly that only her lips were moving.

"Sooner or later, Princess, Arthur will learn what you have been doing," Mordred answered snidely. "You know- plotting to rid the kingdom of the only two people that could keep you from having the king all to yourself."

"You couldn't be any more wrong!" Myra said. "Arthur's been my best friend since we were twelve. He trusts me more than he ever could anyone! I'm only trying to save him from a fate worse than death."

Mordred snorted, in a tone sounding frighteningly identical to Myra's. "Surprising that you talk so much about yourself and the king," he sneered, making a loud spitting sound of disgust. "Women like you. They think they know everything."

"Well, it wasn't me who almost destroyed the kingdom with rash impulses," Myra shot back. "It was Guinevere's fault; I saw her approach Lancelot and start flirting with him!"

"_What_?"

Both Myra and Mordred turned to Guinevere, who looked like she'd swallowed some sour water, her cheeks redder than Myra's gown. "You cannot be saying that, Your Highness," she said. "Lance and I thought of Arthur all the time we were in love with one another. It can't be so hard to realize how much we both love him. He is the greatest king that either one of us have ever known before. And we couldn't help the fact that the two of us were beginning to feel something. Please. Please, try to understand, good Princess."

"Lady Guinevere, as we speak, Arthur and Lancelot and Gawain are still out there, maybe heading for battles that could destroy one, or all of them," Myra said instead. "And unless I stop wasting my time here, nothing can be done to save them!"

Guinevere's hands went to her mouth, a clump of her now-mousy hair falling over her aghast-looking eyes.

Mordred smirked, though it was clear he was trying to hide a hideous grin.

"I don't pretend to not know you, Princess," he said. "You know that something can be done to save your king."

"I've had enough of you." Myra turned on her heel and strode for the door.

Suddenly there was a sharp jabbing in her throat as Mordred dragged her back, with Myra's neck sandwiched between his arm and chest. Her arms struggled, her legs kicking vigorously, trying to scream out an incantation. Guinevere backed into the corner, but her eyes were flicking fast, as if making a decision between escaping, and waiting for the princess to survive the struggle. Her expression said neither, while Myra was being dragged like a child's rag doll towards the opposite corner of the room.

"Let me go! Let me go!" she was yelling, although the words were barely comprehensible with her limited air supply.

Mordred merely sneered at her, tightening his grip on Myra's neck, whose face was now turning a bright shade of lavender. Her eyes were bulging from her head, her tongue sticking from her mouth so that trickles of saliva came out the corners of her lips.

"Don't do this, please!" Guinevere pleaded, as she started to regain footing again. "You cannot harm the princess!"

"Who's the king around this castle, my girl?" Mordred said. "You're just a simple child under my power- not the prestigious lady that Arthur made you out to be."

Guinevere looked, tight-lipped, at him.

"Unless you agree to leave Arthur…for me!"

Guinevere stumbled back into the wall, the air blown right out of her from the impact. "No…no, no…no I cannot do it. I will not do it! You won't have power over me!"

Mordred stopped, and then flung Myra to the ground with a single-handed thrust; she hit her back on the hard floor, her braid flinging in her face like a whip, a surprised gasp choking her.

"Apologize," was all Mordred said. "Apologize this instant, or regret saying nothing, child!"

Guinevere stayed where she was, but her eyes showed utter defiance. "You are not my father, the great king Leodegrance," she stated.

"Well he is not _your_ king!" Mordred snarled, such a savage look in his twisted, albino face that even Myra cringed, not knowing what could come next.

All was silent in the room.

Judging from the decreasing glare in Guinevere's own eyes, Myra knew that it would be bad for Mordred's approach to improve. And what with Mordred's horrid intentions for the kingdom, there was just one thing that had to be done.

"Take me!" Myra's voice shot through the silence like a sword through a window.

Both Mordred and Guinevere shot surprised expressions at her. They were both still, before Mordred revolved himself to face Myra; he didn't step any closer to her, just turned to her, the nasty look in his eyes still there.

"What's that?" he wondered aloud.

"Take me," Myra repeated. "Don't do anything to the lady Guinevere. This fate shouldn't be hers."

Mordred laughed. "What kind of prize would that be? I'd like you to answer so, Princess," he said. "You are a royal, and not some little swan that the king could prize as his own. This pretty child is prancing in the weeds for the taking."

Myra's brain clicked back into action, considering her options while she looked between Guinevere and Mordred. Suddenly Myra looked to the doorway, as open as it had been when she walked in. It was waiting for her; how wonderful it would be to exit, get on with business while Guinevere could still be safe behind her…

Something clicked then.

Myra sighed, putting on her best defeated face. She didn't look at Mordred, as she would more easily break her mask that way. "Well…I can see you have a point there," she said. "It probably wouldn't be such a prize to claim the princess when you can have the king's betrothed. What…what is to be done?"

Guinevere's face fell.

Mordred grinned.

"Come now, my Princess," he said, hoisting Myra to her feet harshly. "You've wasted enough time here."

Myra halted her step. And seizing the opportunity, she whirled around on him, brandishing a dangerous bit of power in her palm, and whamming it into Mordred's stomach with a hard punch. He doubled over onto the floor.

Myra went for another blow with her magic, but the advantage had quickly been stolen.

Mordred pulled a dagger from his belt, swiftly deflecting the magic as it bounced off the wall. A scream from Guinevere left no blurry indication where it had flown.

Mordred came upon Myra with a grim glare, hoisting his arm up to strike. But Myra leapt from the path just as he brought the blade onto the table, spraying splinters.

While Mordred struggled to pull his dagger from the wood, Myra rolled towards Guinevere. The breath flew faster from her lungs seeing the horror on the lady's face- her eyes wide, her lips open in the sort of expression that foreshadowed a scream.

"Guinevere," she prompted.

The lady didn't speak, only breathing in short, choppy breaths that barely escaped her mouth.

Myra shook Guinevere, pinching her skin, forcing her to look her in the eyes. "Look at me, Guinevere. Come on, don't be scared now."

Guinevere still didn't lift her head all the way to meet Myra's gaze.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, Myra wriggled Guinevere's shoulders, and lowered her voice. "Hey, look here," she said. "Don't be afraid of Mordred. You're going to get out of here right this minute- I'll help you."

Guinevere was still, her sobbing almost stopping altogether. She slowly lifted her head, and looked straight into Myra's eyes with a mixture of shock and excitement.

"You…you're- you are a witch."

"Never mind that now!" Myra said, a little more harshly than she meant. "Look. I'm going to place some magic onto you that will keep you safe until you're a good distance away from this room. Then, you have to go as fast as you can, with my sister, to the highest chamber in this castle. You know where that is?"

Guinevere nodded her head.

"I'll take care of Mordred in the meantime," Myra continued, "and once he's out cold, I'll come to your room, and I'll equip you with everything that you'll need till I come back. 'Cause I'm going to keep you locked in there until I come back with Arthur. My father and my sister will look after you."

Quickly, Myra chanted some words, her hands placed gently on Guinevere's. When she saw tranquility overtake the lady's aghast features, she stood up and, with a swift state of a spell, prepared to strike her enemy.

Mordred's blade flashed like the great sword, just before Myra's eyes as she met his arm with her magic. Somehow he managed to push himself out from under her, but he yelped as the sharp magic scraped his skin, stopping short.

Myra went for this chance, grabbing Mordred's arm, her powers building the strength inside. With a grunt, she heaved Mordred around so that he banged onto the floor, which creaked like a pig's screech. Then she swung her arm back down, warm from holding the magic for that long second.

But Mordred's limp legs suddenly slung out from her aim. Her hand crashed to the floor with a bang, the pain ringing between her knuckles. With stiffened muscles, she lifted her hand to quickly survey the damage, but she didn't have too much time before her head shot back up. Myra's heart skipped several beats at what she saw.

Mordred had grabbed Guinevere's ankle, anchoring her to the floor while she cried out and yanked like a frightened child. Mordred's hand closed tightly around her ankle, so that the skin turned scarlet, and Guinevere screamed, her mouth stretching across her whole face. Tabitha was reaching into the room, grabbing Guinevere's hand, and pulling hard.

"Let her go!" Myra cried on instinct.

"Certainly, Princess," he purred. But then he reached, and brandished the dagger in his free hand, hissing along the floor like a waiting serpent; Guinevere yelped, struggling even more. "But my blade shall not."

A wicked grin poisoning his face, Mordred ran the point of the dagger alongside Guinevere's clean leg. And he would have drawn blood, and Guinevere would have been severely hurt…

…if there hadn't come a low swishing sound, the skin of Guinevere's leg swirling like beige water, not a single drop of red showing itself to the light.

Mordred sucked in a great breath. "What is this?" he said, appalled. He dug the knife deeper into Guinevere's leg, but even when the muscles in his arm were tense as rocks, the point still hadn't penetrated Guinevere's skin; it swirled and repelled the metal, as firm as a scab, until Mordred finally lifted the point from it. The skin appeared, clean as an angel's soul.

Guinevere's eyes were wide as Mordred's; hers with surprise and glee that the magic had worked after all, while Mordred's face slowly became contorted.

All was silent.

Bit by bit, Myra let the magic build in her palms. The heat of the power nipped at her skin, but Myra didn't flinch; she was still waiting.

Mordred wasn't moving a single muscle. Guinevere wasn't even breathing.

But slowly, Mordred was raising his hand, getting himself up off the floor. He moved so that he was nearly nose-to-nose with Myra, who was so tense now that a mouse squeak would have brought on a heart attack. It was hard to tell if his steps were deliberately slow, or if he was going to declare defeat.

But he just stopped.

"What can you do, Princess?" he asked. "Go ahead. Let your lady run free to safety. But mark my words, that won't be the beginning for her. Your simpleton family can protect her until they're blue in the face- until me and my men are blue in the face- but-"

"Bombarding us with lousy threats isn't going to destroy Camelot," Myra interrupted. "Not as long as Camelot remains loyal towards Arthur. And not as long as _I _remain Princess, and daughter of Morgan le Fay."

"Magic." Mordred made an obnoxious, dismissive sound with his lips. "You frighten me as much as a beheaded hen. And, as far as anyone in this land knows, King Arthur is dead."

Myra could just see the laughter rising in Mordred's face, and in any case, she wasn't going to talk about this again.

Raising her hand, Myra swung, hot with growing power, across Mordred's face, so that she could actually feel her fingers sinking beneath the skin on his cheek. It happened so quickly she didn't have time to enjoy it, and besides, she was already out the door with Guinevere and Tabitha, pulling them along the corridors so fast that they both struggled to move their feet with Myra's.

They didn't exchange any words on the way, only jamming their feet onto the hard stone steps. Slamming doors aside and stumbling over dog-eared rugs, Myra forced herself to go faster, not daring to rest until she had Guinevere behind that tower door. Her uneasiness increased the more that she heard Guinevere yelping as she tripped over her long skirt, struggling to keep up.

Myra let out a surprised, frustrated yell, and pulled Guinevere into a niche behind the wall in the corridor. Not taking a second to observe Guinevere's tangled locks or her pre-sobbing expression, Myra quickly cut to the chase.

"We're almost there," she said. "But we're going to do what we should have done in the very first place." She paused, swallowing hard. "It'll probably make you sick, but at least you'll be up in the tower."

Before Guinevere could protest, Myra grabbed hold of her friends' arms, and chanted an incantation, feeling her whole body squeezing down to miniscule size, and then zooming along the corridors like a fly. She couldn't see the space through which they were flying, but the sensation was quite uncomfortable. She groaned; Merlin told her traveling by magic was nauseating, and he certainly hadn't been joking.

On the other hand, they were at the tower door at least twenty minutes faster than if they had run.

Myra shoved the door open without pausing to regain her senses, and pushed herself, Guinevere, and Tabitha inside. And when the door slammed shut, they all collapsed on the bed, their gasps short and high-pitched, like a choking child. With her eyes closed tight, Myra felt her blood rushing into her head, her cheeks getting hot. Her back was soaked through with sweat, feeling the great urge to kick off her shoes and go right to sleep.

"Good god," Guinevere croaked. "If I should ever take…such a…journey…again, I should remember to…to…"

"Just say no first?" Myra finished.

"Yes, thank you," Guinevere said.

For a long moment, none of them did anything except heave out air and lay still on the bed. They were too tired to even whisper, to even turn and look at one another. Their hearts thundered, and the blood rushing into their heads made them throb uncomfortably. Guinevere closed her eyes, her chest slowly rising and deflating. She moaned, lazily taking one hand to wipe away her frizzy hair from her face.

Shoving some strength back into her arms, Myra sat up and observed Guinevere. Her breathing was long and steady, but her face was an odd color, her eyes watering over onto her cheeks.

Myra shook her head in sympathy. Despite that she didn't quite like Guinevere, she couldn't deny her need to care for her after such an abrupt trip to the tower. Sitting up, she laid her fingers on Guinevere's frail-looking hand and looked through a slit in the wall. In the dim of twilight, it was difficult to see beyond the grounds, but that was all she needed. Pale moonlight was beginning to spotlight the grass, with dark figures scampering across like little woodland creatures…

Myra's heart jumped, but she didn't move back from the opening.

In little groups, men in dark uniforms started to skitter around the grounds. They stuck close together, their heads joining. When she concentrated, Myra could hear the men's voices, hushed and low against the natural whispering of the night.

There was no guessing what they were up to; their dark, dreary uniforms said it all.

Hauling aside a great chest and a long drape, Myra used her magic to close off the slit in the wall. Then, she turned to Guinevere and Tabitha, and, making sure they were still, covered them with blankets. She stepped to the door afterwards in one leap, putting herself against it.

Loud shouts and pounding on doors reverberated all across the castle, and soon enough, just outside the perimeter of the tower. The chaos had begun.

Myra's thoughts instantly went to her father, still somewhere in the castle. Her heart jolted harshly, and Myra pressed closer to the door, listening for coming footsteps. Every moment, a new set of tromping rampaged across the floor, tipping over artifacts on the walls, stomping over the carpets and, even causing the servants to give strangled shouts.

Cringing, Myra prepared to open the door, and go in search of Amos herself…

Instantly, the door slammed open and Myra felt the tip of her nose crash into the wood, sending her colliding with the bed. The surprise of it shoved pain up the bridge of her nose, but she was still on her feet, attempting to make ready for attack.

"Bolt the door! Stay inside!"

Myra was swiftly moving the second she recognized the voice. She made a grab for her father's arm, and pulled him away from the door, casting a spell on the wood, just as it started to bang violently.

And at the same instant, an arrow zipped past their heads, wedging itself into the crevices between the stones. It was followed by a second, and then a third…they came like a swarm of flies, locking into place just above their heads.

"Get down!" Myra said quickly to her father, shoving him to the floor behind the bed. Leaping over where Guinevere slept, Myra aimed her finger-point through the slit, firing shot after shot at the attackers below. She had limited vision through the little window, but she could see that the men were mobilizing, gathering their bows in the same direction.

"It's the princess!"

"That's not a princess, it's a witch!"

"Kill her now!"

Myra held her hands together, cupping the air, willing her magic to take form. Her hands were like still cannons, from which many balls of electric power were fired. They thundered from the tower, exploding on the ground like comets. Arrows flew against her magic, but still, they stopped, turned black, and burned to ashes the closer they came. Myra grinned while some of the men started to fall back, as others only raised them higher.

Quickly, Myra pressed her hands along the perimeter of the window. From her fingers, a drippy green film of magic slipped like honey on the bricks. It flowed together, and stuck to the wall, forming a cold, rock-like substance. Now, when the arrows were flung towards the tower, they bounced against it like mere pebbles, falling to the ground.

Then, Myra ducked back around, and found Amos still hiding behind the bed; Tabitha had joined him. A sleepy-looking Guinevere was just rising from the bed, rubbing her head and sweeping aside her tangled hair. She jolted backwards at seeing Myra- a blur of red and brown- rush past her.

"Princess!" Myra couldn't tell whether Guinevere was surprised, or questioning that she was there, but in any case, she took the lady's hand, pulling her down to the floor.

"All right, now listen to me," Myra said, raising a hand before Guinevere could question whatever was happening. "Outside that window, Mordred has turned the remaining forces against us, and I don't think they're going to stop firing their arrows until they've breached the spell." She looked over the bed, and watched while another round of arrows bounced off the wall. "So, I'm asking for all of you to stay inside this tower, and don't even think about opening that door! There's a chance that Mordred may give up and take the castle by manual force, so beware."

"But…what about you?" Guinevere's hoarse voice spoke up. "If you go out, they'll attack you much faster than they're trying now. You must stay here!"

Myra heaved a deep sigh, and squeezed Guinevere's arm. "My lady Guinevere, I'm the only one who can go out, rescue Arthur, and end the battling before it even starts, all in less than a day. I can handle myself."

"Well, if there's _any_ sorcerer who _should_ handle themselves, it's you," Amos stated firmly. He put both hands on Myra's shoulders, and he held her at arm's length. "You are just as magical as Merlin, but we cannot rely on anyone else. As your father, I'm telling you that you've got more bite, and more will, than anything else. If you cannot save Arthur, and Camelot, I don't know what will."

Myra grinned, putting her arms around Amos. "I love you, Papa. And you two, Tabitha," she said to her family. "A king's guardian never looks at death with a frightful eye, especially not the guardian of the immortal King Arthur!"

With that, Myra pointed her fingers at some spare artifacts in the corners, and transformed them into large crates and baskets. Some steamed and others were cold; the air even started to bring forth the pungent odor of turkey and fish, and watery fruits.

Then Myra cast her arms all around the tower, and the same slippery green substance glazed over the walls, slipping out the window like gushing water, before Myra disappeared into thin air, leaving behind a disintegrating cloud of sparkles and smoke.


	30. In the King's Tent

**Chapter 30: In the King's Tent**

Taking a shaky landing into the grass, Myra gasped as she swallowed a mouthful of freezing air. With a chattering jaw, she conjured her red cloak, putting up her hood. But with the chilling air, it was suddenly blown back from her head, the rest of her cloak billowing at her sides like wings. Her limbs growing numb, Myra started a slow walk towards the red tents she spotted not too far away. But at the sight of those flapping red tents, there came a buzzing inside her brain, and Myra shook her head. She could instantly sense the sight's returning to memory, but she didn't wish to dwell in that now. She had to find Arthur.

It wasn't very easy trying to maneuver through the rows of tents, as they all looked the same, with the great flag bearing Arthur's coat of arms, and not many people around. The cold air made the doors flap like drapes, sounding very hollow, and very much unlike what Myra had expected. She looked around once more. She hadn't known that Arthur would require so many tents, just to break up the fighting between Lancelot and Gawain. Besides, you only saw those kinds of tents when a king had stationed himself, with an army, perhaps, in one place.

Something bigger was definitely happening.

The further she walked into the camp, the more Myra fought to suppress the urgent sense of familiarity about this place. The answer was creeping up on her with a swiftness she couldn't deny, so it was difficult keeping herself focused on the task at hand.

She clenched her hands into fists, and shook her head in response to a shiver, but then quivered in shock when she noticed a stout knight in shiny chainmail strut past her. He didn't acknowledge her presence, but Myra, glad to finally see some civilization around these parts, followed him between the tents. Just the same, the knight didn't look back to notice he was being followed; just kept on walking, his sword jangling at his side, and his boots clomping through the frosty grass.

It was a long time before Myra and the knight stopped walking at a tent. It was red, but was much larger than the others on the camp. The door flaps were edged in golden trim, bearing the coat of arms on both sides. Greeting the knights guarding either side of the entrance, the knight entered, but they abruptly slapped their spears together once he was inside.

"Who are you?" the knights promptly asked Myra.

With a long breath, Myra took down her hood, standing tall before the knights, wanting to appear as much a princess as she could.

"Princess Myra," one knight said, quickly bowing. "You are not supposed to be here."

"I'm the princess, lord, and I request that you let me through. I have to speak with the king, more than anything else!" Myra straightened her back, and looked between each knight.

"His Majesty has enough knights and troubles to worry about, Your Highness," one of the knights said. "You ought to go back to England, and help protect the kingdom."

Myra's cheeks turned scarlet. "I'm not going home until Arthur is coming with me," she stated. "I'm here to give him some urgent news about what has happened in Camelot." When the knights both gave her a look, she added: "The throne has been usurped, but that's business that is only between myself and Arthur. Now, please let me through!"

The knights briefly glanced at one another, and so, they pulled aside their spears. "Good luck, my good Princess," one knight whispered to her as she passed through the entrance.

The moment that she stepped inside, every knight in the massive tent turned and gaped at the mysterious visitor in the red cloak. Arthur, who stood straight ahead of her, got up in his chair, and peered at her, his face lit up mysteriously by the candlelight.

"What?" he sputtered. "Myra…?"

"Save your words, Arthur," she said, staying where she was. "Please make a seat for me. I need to share a few words with you, and…your knights." Myra gave the knights a few strange looks, some confused thoughts passing through her mind

The knights at the table didn't say anything. They only kept gazing at Myra, apparently as shocked at her presence as she was at theirs; she thought that they had been back in Camelot all this time. But Arthur, he sat back down in his chair and folded his arms on the table. "Excuse me, Myra, but we're in the middle of some important business. And, aren't you supposed to be back at the castle-"

"Yes, but I had to come here," Myra said. "I've placed several protective shields on the tower, where my father, Tabitha, and Guinevere are. But they'll stay there until we can return to England and sort out this ordeal with Lancelot."

"Easier said than done," Tristram, the knight beside Arthur, said. "The renegade is moving swiftly through the country, and we cannot keep him in sight for ten minutes altogether."

"What are you all doing here, in any case?" Myra asked the knights. "I had no idea you had left the kingdom."

"We rode away just after we learned that Mordred had taken the throne," explained one of the knights. "We would have tried to come back for you, Princess, but there was too much chaos for us to risk going inside the castle. Even when we tried going out at dusk, there was far too much risk of us being seen, or caught in the anarchy already shaping the kingdom. We apologize for it, but we are glad you're safe nonetheless."

Shaking her head, Myra conjured a chair behind her back, and shoved it between Gawain and some other knight whose name she couldn't remember. The knights gaped at her some more, as if wondering about where the chair had come from, but Myra paid them no mind. Her eyes were solely on Arthur's, preparing to give him the news.

"Hear me out now, Arthur," she said. "I understand how upset you have become over what happened between Lancelot and Guinevere, but there are more important things at hand than chasing down your best knight. Guinevere, and my family, are trapped inside a tower- with limited resources and protection- while the castle is under siege!"

Arthur, who had been sitting still as marble, shot his head up a notch. "What? By who, er, what?"

"Mordred!"

There was a mixed reaction from the knights; some gasped and murmured nervously, while others, like Gawain, slapped their hands to their foreheads. Arthur had a slower reaction; his eyes gradually widened, his hands raising themselves tentatively from the table.

"Mordred?" he wondered aloud. "Who? What? And…how? He couldn't usurp the throne so easily when you were there-"

"But he did!" Myra nearly shouted. "He sent a letter to himself, and presented it to the kingdom! Arthur, everybody thinks you're dead! As far as everyone is concerned, you and Lancelot killed each other in a battle. Camelot is under Mordred's control, and he- _he _is the reason why I had to lock my family and the lady Guinevere in a tower! He's taken every last servant and stray knight in Camelot, and turned them against me, while Merlin's been taken by the Lady of the Lake! So, you see? If you don't come back with me, everything that you've worked for in Camelot will be gone!"

There was silence after Myra stopped. The knights looked helplessly between each other, shrugging their arms, and then finally looking at Arthur and Myra, who stared each other off from across the table. While the knights made collective murmurs to each other, Arthur didn't react beyond a shocked stare. His jaw was slowly dropping, his shoulders slumping, as if in early defeat.

"Yer Majesty," Gawain spoke up. "Ye will not let tha' bastard Mordred take away everything tha' ye hold close t' ye. 'E is m' brother, and a nasty, cold-hearted one a' tha'. So if ye will allow the waging of battle, and if anyone ought t' take his life in it, it ought t' b' me."

Arthur held up his hand, not looking up. "No, Gawain," he said. "It's horrible enough that Camelot has been overtaken, and that it happens to be your brother. Such a deed would be tragic."

"But what about Lancelot?" asked Tristram. "He is still on the run, and we are better yet on our mission to capture him. We cannot simply let him go and be done with him!"

"Aye," another knight agreed. "The knight who betrayed your trust, sire, for the love of the adulterous lass due to be your eternal wife. And you do not still wish to do him justice?"

"Quiet, all of you!" Arthur snapped.

The knights were all silenced, and Myra drew back. In so long, she hadn't seen such fury on her friend's face. It was the expression of a king with the power of God on his side, and all the anger of a storm. It was the first time she had ever been afraid to look at him.

Arthur looked at all his knights, his face still contorted with his snap of anger. Everyone looked back at him, though very warily.

It was a long time before Arthur's fiery eyes softened, and all in the tent could look his way without so much caution. Myra glanced at Gawain, who also had drawn back a little. Apparently, no one else had seen their king that angry before either.

Arthur sighed heavily, but he was quiet again. So was the rest of the tent.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, a little wearily, and now, Myra heard not the voice of a king, but that of a little boy. The boy she had heard from before he had been claimed the ruler of his country. "I wish…I wish…"

No one spoke, though Myra was inching forward again in her seat.

"I wish I had never left Camelot," he said finally. "To come after Lancelot, and you, Gawain."

"'Twas a battle fer our honor, m' king," Gawain explained. "'Ad Mordred not stolen th' throne from the princess as 'e did, then we would no' have this trouble. So, 'tis not yer fault."

Arthur glanced carefully at Myra, and the look in his eyes made her stiff. "Myra. How _did _Mordred steal the crown from you?"

Myra halted her breath. All the knights turned to look at her, and instantly, she could tell she was trapped. She didn't know how to relay the story to everyone, without relaying the news that she was a witch with power. They would think her weak, if they knew a mere mortal had taken away her position, much more if they knew she had been imprisoned.

The best she could do was choose her words carefully.

"He just showed me the letter, and I thought that maybe it was really true," Myra replied. "I started to cry. Then, he took me by my arms, and I tried to fight him off, but he figured out my weakness quickly. That…that was the end of it."

The knights all gave her the same look of shocked confusion.

"'Ow?" Gawain wondered aloud. "'Ow could 'e 'ave taken the kingdom, when ye are always so strong-willed, and warrior-like?"

Myra couldn't answer any further. She couldn't even meet Gawain's eyes while he spoke to her. She felt like a stupid, lazy child who hadn't done anything to earn back points in class. What was done had been done, and there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it.

"But," she said instead, "that's why I suggest we go back to Camelot, and take force of the castle ourselves, and make Mordred's men draw back. They probably won't be as strong when they recognize that you're back, Arthur."

Myra expected Arthur to straighten himself, and grin sincerely at the idea of returning to Camelot, and getting his kingdom back from the clutches of a scheming lord of the court.

He glared.

"Someone who takes advantage of these circumstances is beyond negotiation," he said. "My mere presence won't scare off someone like Mordred, if domination of Camelot is what he wants."

"Then, what will, sire?" asked Tristram, shaking his head, as if he could already foresee Arthur's answer to the question.

"We'll have to fight," the king answered grimly. "We must rid ourselves of this traitor once and for all. Otherwise, everything that has come about in Camelot will be gone, and then what will we have left?"


	31. This Way Comes

**Chapter 31: …This Way Comes**

The knights turned to one another, but Myra didn't need for them to speak to know what they were thinking.

And there was absolutely no second guessing about what she thought at that moment either.

"You don't mean that," she said, while she rose from her seat.

Arthur met Myra's tiny plea with a simple expression. "It's the best way, Myra," he explained.

"Yer right, m' good king." Even Gawain's gentle, booming voice was soft with the heavy resolve. And Myra turned to look at his face. His eyes were gentle as well, but they didn't sparkle. His arms were casually crossed on the table's edge, although there was a deep solemnity that seemed to spread along to the rest of the knights. "'Tis th' _only _way. But, even on th' battlefield, Mordred will b' a force t' b' reckoned with."

"That doesn't matter," said Arthur. "We will just have to gather as many as we can that haven't crossed over to Mordred, and show that our fury will be enough."

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Tristram, and like Gawain, the other knights mimicked his grave face.

The only one not breathing silent prayers or whispers, was Myra. She stood taller, and pulled in a short breath to speak, the urgency of her words filling her with a mix of fear and strength.

"You don't know what you're doing, Arthur," she said.

"Don't try to say that again, Myra," he replied. "It's about time we took care of Mordred, and put him in his proper place. I mean, if he was strong enough to overcome you, then that means we're in even more trouble than everyone realizes. He may have gotten stronger since you left the kingdom, and that's why we have to act now."

Myra absolutely refused to leave it at that.

"You don't understand," she said. "I just made a mistake in battling him for the throne. I could have overtaken Mordred, had I just been a little stronger. You're all overestimating him."

"Princess," said Gawain. "I think it is ye tha' doesn't understand. I know Mordred. Once 'e is in a position o' power, there is no stoppin' 'im unless by insurmountable force. And now, it seems tha' kind o' force is all we 'ave t' come by. 'E is silent a lot o' th' time, but there's wickedness on every inch o' 'im."

"Then, Arthur, you can just come back to England, and execute him," Myra said, starting to get exasperated. "Plain and simple as that."

"It would be a lot more rewarding, Princess, to watch the bastard man die in battle, than by means of the hangman's noose," said Tristram. "That's the knighted man's way of dying. Other such deaths are for-"

Myra slapped her palms on the table, making the surface rattle, rousing the knights from their grave positions. "Horseshit!" she cried. "Drop chivalry, and forget _honor_ with this man. I know the treachery that Mordred is planning, and I do not want to brush it aside! He locked away the last remaining royals, kidnapped the lady Guinevere, and nearly took her to bed against her will. And now, he plans to make Camelot his own personal fair grounds, while everyone believes that their real beloved King Arthur is in a bloody puddle in the middle of nowhere, and you want to go to _war_?"

Everyone in the tent could still hear Myra's words echoing off the distant mountains, and they didn't make a dare of opening their mouths. Even Arthur was silent. But Myra's outburst hadn't managed to take away his firm, regal expression of certainty.

He didn't say it then, but he knew for certain that he would reach Mordred, and that they would fight for Camelot, and all that was good and right. He was king, and not the scrawny whelp he was so many years ago. He knew what was right, and thus, he would have to teach the man who didn't.

…..

In spite of how many times Arthur asked- _told_- Myra to return to England, she didn't falter from her own desires, and so, she stayed with him and the knights in the camp.

Promptly after the meeting in the conference tent, messages were written to the nobles and young men of the provinces, as well as those back in England. On a regular occasion, Myra would be obliged to send the messages along faster via magic, but she was tired, and frustrated, so she ignored them. She lay in her own red tent, with her eyes shut, and the blanket wrapped comfortably about, but she couldn't rest her mind for a fraction of a moment. And she feared she probably wouldn't. Not while she knew of what was to come within the next days.

Besides, she still felt the familiar urge to listen for an early intrusion, in case she would need to protect her king. She groaned upon feeling it in her gut, and all hope of sleep evaporated quickly.

By the time the sun rose, Myra was half-dead with fatigue, and it took nearly all of her strength to just put on her cloak.

Upon leaving her tent, Myra saw that the rest of the camp was already alive with action. The knights walking back and forth between each other's quarters, and the squires racing madly around with scrolls tumbling in their arms. Everyone bowed upon getting the princess in sight, though Myra didn't pay a lick of attention.

But, rather than trying to find Arthur, or return to the conference tent, Myra decided to wander.

She let her mind fall back to sleep, while her feet just took her around. It didn't matter a bit where she went, as long as she could find a little peace.

The mountain breeze was cold, though Myra didn't shiver. She let her cloak billow around her, and her loose strands of hair be toyed with. Her steps were soft upon the frosted grass, and for a time, she could enjoy the leisure of simply walking, and trying to forget her problems. Although, deep in her heart, she wished she could go back to the day that she and Arthur had stood together on the bridge in the rain: to have her friend, to laugh and be happy, instead of dealing with Mordred and other such balderdash. She didn't want to feel so heavy, and so helpless, when she knew she should be in some control.

Then, Myra arrived at the edge of the camp, which overlooked the vast countryside below the mountain. She couldn't see it all, because the sky was overcast in a dense fog, so that minimal sunlight could cut through, and she instantly gave up trying to find beauty in it.

That was how Myra spent the first few days in the camp.

Until she spotted the dark, traveling spots, and heard the whinnying of horses among the clouds.

A voice called out amongst it all: "Everyone stay calm. We have come here to negotiate."

Myra felt her muscles go stiff. _He _had come back.

With a bolted heart, the princess started back. She didn't wish to be seen alone by him, nor she did she want to accompany whatever nasty colloquies were to come. Particularly between Mordred, and the king that everyone back home thought was dead.

Myra wondered how Camelot was getting along now, though she couldn't again imagine the feeling of thinking her king was gone forever. It made her heart sting, as if the end of life were finally at hand.

…

Myra didn't follow the others to the conference tent. She was well back to her own tent by the time she heard everyone marching towards business. The two flaps were closed tightly, and she was sitting on the bed, with both her cloak and her blanket draped over her shoulders. Part of her wished she could disappear, and go back home to England where at least everything was more secure and familiar, but she couldn't allow herself to. She knew her duty, and she still couldn't falter in it.

But she was starting to miss her family, and often pondered what they could be doing. And when she lay down on her pillow, she wished she could hold Tabitha, or her father, and tell them how much she cared again, that she would always love them…

_Just like how I will always love…_

Myra felt that sting in her heart again, and she groaned.

_Why? Why won't you listen to me, Arthur? I know you know in your heart that this is not right. Bad things will happen to Camelot, your knights, and to you. Just you wait and see, if you will not heed my words…_

_ Just look into my eyes one more time, and then will you listen to me?_

Besides the sting in her chest, she felt the burn in her eyes, and she closed them against the tears.

She didn't think about anything for a long time, except for the memories that came through her mind. The long days of school with Arthur. The magical, hard-working afternoons with Merlin. After Tabitha grew up, and she and Myra and Arthur could play together outside the castle. When she reached seventeen years, and Merlin told her she could study magic alone.

She didn't know whether to spit or to yell. Or let the tears fall.

Myra tugged harder on the edges of her cloak, and unconsciously pushed herself further into her pillow. She let the memories emerge through her mind, until she couldn't think under cover of sleep.

The darkness shot away from her, and like a wink, her sleep was gone.

She felt a cold breeze drift through her cloak, though this time she was unprepared. Myra shook herself awake, and retied her cloak, pulling up her blanket in the wake of it. The door flaps were opened.

"What the…?" Myra stopped herself upon noticing her visitor, and she slowly removed herself from the bed, standing lightly before him.

It was then that Arthur entered the tent, and met Myra with a blank expression that caused her muscles to congeal.

"Myra," he said simply. "Have you been talking to someone, in all the time that we've been here?"

She averted her gaze for an instant, feeling herself freeze up; was that really what he had asked? She hoped not. "What're you talking about, Arthur?" Myra asked.

"I've been speaking with Mordred, you see," Arthur said, "to discuss what's going to happen in matters of our fighting. And fortunately, everything's been gone over, and both sides of our story have been told."

"Good, but…" Myra began. "What's your point? Is…that all you came to tell me?"

Arthur shrugged. "I guess," he said. "But there's another thing. And, if you ask me about it, I would say it's a very, very important matter between the king and his best friend, the princess. Although"- he stopped and glanced at Myra, and once more, his face made her feel a drift of cold- "I can't say that that princess is a good friend, when secrets are kept from me."

"All right," said Myra. "Now I really don't know what's going on. What…what did you and Mordred talk about?"

"Oh, don't pretend anymore, Myra," Arthur growled. "You know very well what's been going on between you and Mordred. And you know what? I don't think it's worth you being around here anymore!"

"_What _did he tell you?" Myra said loudly.

"What? _What _did he tell me?" Arthur asked, almost sarcastically. "All right, I'll let you know." He paced in a small circle, naming off things on his fingers. "He told me about how, perhaps you two had already met, and that you were performing all kinds of queer things behind my back. One of them being how to permanently get rid of Guinevere: by the use of your magic, I will add."

"He didn't," Myra said, though she still doubted her hopes that Arthur was just yanking her chain.

"It's the truth," said Arthur in a deflated voice. "He also informed me of the fact that you were more than happy to have Guinevere demoted from being my bride, and even thrown from the country." He shook his head. "I still cannot swallow that you would do something like that."

"She was practically _making love _to Lancelot when you weren't looking!" Myra protested. "Someone had to do something, while you and her were so hopelessly in love. I mean, that's the whole reason I came here in the first place- to save you from that sort of thing."

"Well, it's too late for that," said Arthur. "In case you never saw it, Myra, I actually _liked _Guinevere. I thought perhaps I could love her, and I even believe I was starting to. Being with her took me away from all your drama."

"And just look at how she turned out to be!" Myra nearly yelled. "She was giving her love to your best knight, when she should have stayed away from you both. I could tell from the start that she was trouble. That's why I almost didn't let her into my bedchamber the night you met her."

"Then you could have told me!" Arthur shot back. "Instead of trying to be the almighty adventurous witch and save the day with a flick of your hand." He sighed, and fixed her with a hard glare. "For the love of God, Myra, will you ever learn to not use your magic for your own gains!"

"I was only trying to save you! Remember, I'm your guardian?"

Arthur threw up his hands with a loud yell that made Myra's ears throb, and her stomach drop.

"It always comes down to that twaddle!" he said. "And I'm sick to death of it!" Arthur turned on his heel with a violent huff, and started out of the tent.

"Arthur!" Myra yelped, grabbing him by the shoulder, and yanking him around. She shook her head, and tried not to feel her tears a second time. "Look, I'm very, very, very sorry about all this. And I do wish I had told you about what I was doing with Mordred. But the truth is, I didn't know who he was, and I didn't know it would come to this! At all." Myra shook her head back and forth again, but this time, she did feel her grief showing through. "Please, Arthur. You don't know what you're about to walk into, going to war with Mordred."

Arthur locked his eyes onto Myra's, hard, but she didn't draw back. "Myra, he has a plot to take over the kingdom. And I'm sworn to protect it!" he said firmly. "I've let enough happen."

"And thus, I'm sworn to protect _you_!"

"I know that! But you can't protect me from more heartbreak, Myra. If we let Mordred go, he'll only bring more trouble to the kingdom and if I don't stop it, I'll be the one to blame. Mordred is a traitor, and he has to be destroyed."

Myra grunted, and grasped Arthur's clothes tighter. In turn, she sealed her own gaze into his, moving to take his hands.

"_Forget _Mordred, Arthur," she said, gently but firmly. "Revenge will only do further damage than Guinevere and Lancelot did. Because…because…" She paused on the words that were killing to come out of her mouth.

"What? What is it, Myra?"

"Because…" She began, but the words froze at her lips. In a flash of frustration, Myra leaned her head forward and pushed a breath out, her forehead brushing Arthur's chest. "Because, Arthur, I'd feel the same sadness if someone tried to take you…away…from me."

Arthur took a tiny step back from her. "What are you trying to say?"

Myra didn't answer for many moments. And she didn't mean to. Her eyes were closing, absorbing the moments that she stood this close to Arthur. She was still, not wanting to move from in front of him. The seconds passed very slowly, and with her hands clasping Arthur's, she felt the tension tightening. She still pressed breath into her mouth, but the words wouldn't go past her lips; she felt her throat constricting.

A squeeze from Arthur's tense fingers prompted Myra to glance back up.

But the words she spoke were not the same as before.

"Arthur," she said, barely speaking at all. "You're going to die."

"What?" Arthur peered curiously at her, bending his head just an inch closer to her.

Myra was speechless once more, her lips frozen together with the hot rushing of her blood. Her hands were warm inside of Arthur's, and slowly, she began to pull them out. They were gentle, just floating along his arms, which felt lukewarm under her touch. It mattered not that in a matter of days, the skin under his clothes would be covered with blood and death. Now in the moment, it was like feeling a child from heaven.

Her palm found its way to Arthur's cheek. It rested there, before he reached up…and took it away.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "You're not acting like yourself."

"How else can I say what I feel?" Myra said.

"Myra, you're not making any sense."

"If you could understand, you'd see that I've begun to think of you as more than my friend. And, that…that…"

"Tell me."

Myra's heart was pounding against her, screaming at her like a prisoner in a cell when trapped in a fire. She felt it from the bowels of her soul- it was time to fling wide the prison door.

Sucking in a breath, she swung her arms around Arthur's neck and pressed her face up to meet his.


	32. The Secret of the Equinox

**Chapter 32: The Secret of the Equinox**

Myra locked herself in position, her lips massaging Arthur's sweetly. Her hands reached up to toy with his messy blonde hair, like strands of satin. The feeling she got, dripping throughout her body like hot water, was a breath of fresh air in the dank, thin atmosphere of the mountains. It filled her from the bottom of her lungs, piling up to her throat. The air couldn't escape, however, while she and Arthur were still connected by their frightening intimacy.

There suddenly came a gasp in her throat, as her hands fell down onto Arthur's back, hot with an anxious, sweaty heat.

There was even something gently touching at Myra's waist. She waited in breathless anticipation for the touch to intensify. Up till now, she didn't realize her arms were pulling her closer to Arthur. And for the first time since she had discovered these feelings, she was afraid.

The words Myra always wanted to say were at her lips, just breaking past. And at the same time, the touch at her waist tightened. A jolt zapped through her veins, making her anxious heart jump like a child in an attic when a bird unexpectedly twitters. Her face was becoming unbearably hot. But, she didn't notice.

"Myra?"

The euphoria streaming through her couldn't wake her enough to hear Arthur's voice.

"Myra?"

She reached her hands towards each other, to lock Arthur's neck inside them.

But they reached nothing.

"Myra!"

As if waking from a dream, Myra's head snapped upward, her stomach falling inside her. She had to blink a few times before she noticed Arthur, looking at her like she was about to carve out his heart.

They were silent, just surveying each other's shocked expressions, breathing heavily from being locked in intimacy.

At last, Arthur shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes looking at her as though gazing through to her soul.

Myra's pulse slowed. "What do you mean? I'm Myra. Your friend, who loves you, and wants to keep you safe from what you're going to do."

"What's happened to you?" Arthur exclaimed. "I thought you were acting strange before, but this is ridiculous! Myra, why…why did you _do _that?"

Myra grabbed Arthur's hands at that instant, and locked her eyes even further onto his. She opened her mouth to breathe, then speak, though not before Arthur tore his hands from her grip and stepped all the way back from her.

"If you had any idea how important you are to me, you would listen!" But Myra didn't say those words. Arthur was already out of the tent and stomping away.

It felt as if her heart had dropped down into her toes, and her stomach was an icy stone.

Until slowly, Arthur halted himself, and turned to glance behind him.

"Oh, and…Myra?" he began.

Myra nodded; her throat was too shriveled to speak.

"I want you to go back home. Go, and stay there. If I see you out here when Mordred and I go to fight, I will not come to your rescue." He paused, and sniffed heavily. "Even if one of Mordred's men has you on the ground with nowhere to turn, you're on your own."

When he turned away, Myra saw her sight go blurry, just as she noticed that the rims of Arthur's eyes were becoming red and wet.

"Arthur, I…" She had barely whispered a breath, before her friend was gone. And then, dropping her shoulders, and turning on her heel, she dragged herself back inside the tent to leave for home, only just realizing something on the way in.

The horrible night that Myra had envisioned the silhouetted figure of Arthur and the young woman in the red tent on the frosted mountain, that wasn't Guinevere she thought she saw laying her voluptuous lips on Arthur's.

It had been _her_.

…

Sulking seemed to be the only thing that kept Myra from sinking into her shoes and never coming out again. What with the fighting finally breaking out between Arthur and Mordred, it seemed like maybe there would be no true stopping the marbles from falling now. Alone in the library, she slammed random spells onto the books, venting her anger through the rush of adrenaline that her magic gave her.

It was a good thing Merlin had disappeared off the face of the earth, because Myra could only imagine the twisted, funny words that he would be spewing at her.

Around her, books were sprawled open, with some of their pages fluttering about the space like leaves in autumn. Myra's insides were as cold as the night, her face hot like summer. Just the same, she wasn't quite sure what to feel. She was angry that she couldn't have stopped Arthur from going into the fighting, and also that she hadn't recognized her own treachery in these matters. It had been foolish to assume that Guinevere could be so tempting, and that Myra was always so pure and noble in trying to do good for her best friend. Myra had known she loved Arthur. That was what had brought her here anyway.

Although, did that really mean she wanted to get rid of the- dare she say it- _competition_ for Arthur's affections and attention? When she should have been keeping to herself and waiting to be sure before she acted on impulse.

Typical Myra.

The fire of vexation that tore through Myra caused her magic to flare up, smashing into a bookshelf and sending it into smoldering ashes. It didn't frighten her that she was destroying the library, but it still caused her to break down on the floor.

"What is this?" she shouted. "What am I going to do now?"

Her body hotter than red coals, Myra sunk to the rug, and plunged her face into her hands, feeling the dampness of her tears. She felt hollow on the inside, without much reason to try searching for contentment.

The hopelessness was strong, strong enough that Myra just let herself lie on the floor, and wallow; not the right thing to do, but it felt so wonderful she couldn't deny such powerful emotion. The tears still fell, but they were more silent, falling from her eyes like a raindrop from a flower petal.

"Arthur…Arthur…" Her voice became a ghostly whisper, floating into the void, while a painful lump rose in her throat. "Please…please come back…before…something…hurts you…" The gasps strangled her words, closing her away. "I…I…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

Her tears couldn't last forever. She gazed around the library, feeling her heart skip in its rhythm as she saw the damage that had been done. It looked as if a hurricane had torn through, but Myra merely waved her hands, whispering a spell, as she stood back up on jelly-like legs.

The library picked itself up around her, like poltergeists were moving up and across the space, and Myra put herself down upon the same desk that she studied at. She felt an empty sense of nostalgia sitting there, as if she hadn't been there in several years, and yet, she didn't like it as she should. Something still had to be done.

Myra reached to the side, and her fingers brushed the cover of a worn book. And realizing it was the same book that contained the magic spell that had brought her here, she opened the cover.

Tentatively, she found the page with the bookmark. Her eyes ran over the words, remembering them as she went. She stopped suddenly when she again found the bookmark nestled into the binding, reaching to take it out. But it only managed to reveal the page that was missing from the book.

Myra frowned while she fingered the bookmark, though she noticed something strangely different. As her pointer finger toyed with the end of the bookmark, she saw that there were two flaps of parchment, like a folded card. Curious, she pulled the two flaps apart, and saw another, smaller piece of parchment folded inside.

A pocket.

Feeling her shoulders going still, Myra took out the parchment, holding it up to her eyes. There was printing on it, tiny and intricate, most of which was savagely scribbled out.

"_The journey of a lover, who wishes to turn back the clock for their significant other, means a possible sacrifice. One must be willing to do anything. Only then, at the moment of truth, can the Time Equinox be completed, and the journey ended. Would you be willing to risk life and death for one such person? Even if not doing so meant the demise of all that the both of you held the closest?"_

Myra stopped reading. Was that…? Was that the question that she had been required to answer all along? That she had been procrastinated and worried over, so long ago?

She leaned over the slip of parchment, rereading that passage until she had memorized the words, and like ghost whispers, they came through her brain repeatedly. Here they were- the things she was supposed to answer, in order to somehow complete her adventure here. After so long, and right under her nose, although scratched out as if someone wanted to abolish them for good.

So the Equinox could only be completed when she decided: would she risk her life for everything that was good and right in Camelot in this inevitable battle, or take away everything- just to fulfill the feelings she held for Arthur?

"_Answer truthfully, for it is solely the truth of heart that enables the wizard to return from their journey.__"_

Truthfully…?

Myra fell back in her chair, slumping her posture as if in defeat. Letting go of Arthur- losing him in this battle, and trapping her here forever? Now that was something that she couldn't swallow well. She had promised- as had he- that she would always protect him, that she would always be his friend. Although she didn't feel that he was up for being her friend much now, she couldn't be shaken from her duty.

But…what would happen to Camelot, if she decided to take Arthur? Would they all die, at the hands of Mordred? Well…maybe not right away, because they were a well-equipped people. They had food, water, livestock, trade….

And Tabitha? Would she watch out for Camelot, and arm herself against such malevolent forces? And Amos?

Tears came to Myra's eyes thinking of that fate, for both her family, and Camelot.

As of now she had two choices. One was to choose her love for Arthur, and leave the well-being of Camelot at the mercy of her selfish impulses. And the other was to put herself between Mordred and Arthur, and risk never seeing her best friend's smiling face. _A possible sacrifice._

Either way…

Her heart fluctuated between agitation and fear, while she pictured Arthur- safe, sound, coming with her back to their own time, but leaving behind death and destruction for Camelot. Mordred could still march through the gates, and once more take siege of the castle, with Tabitha and Amos inside.

And then she saw Arthur, the true saving grace, while Myra prepared to fight to her death against the enemy, Mordred.

Could she do both, and still fulfill the Equinox?

No, only one had to be chosen. And she would do either one as faithfully as she served her king.

And, to serve her king meant leaving him to his duty, and her to her own: by standing at his side no matter the danger, and working her magic to the advantage of the army. Her own petty matters could come later. As they should have from the very beginning.

With a swift hand, Myra closed the book and stuffed the piece of parchment into her shirt. With her other, she summoned a little vial to fly into her fingers. She grinned- it was the same vial with the magic potion that had initiated this adventure. Now she was confident that the time had come to end it.

Myra turned, and took her cloak from the back of a chair with a sweep, disappearing into the dark red folds in a flash, leaving behind a glare of brilliant light, and the dimming twilight of the English afternoon.


	33. The Rekindling of an Era

**Chapter 33: The Rekindling of an Era**

The sun at her back, Myra flew across the grassy fields. She followed the mountainside, ramming her feet into the earth, making her boots soppy with mud. Water splashed onto her leggings, staining them black. And the sword that she now carried at her side, scraped across the ground, echoing in Myra's ears, as much as the vast calls of marching men. She was coming close.

Her powers started to swell, and Myra could feel her sword starting to glimmer with it. Flashes of light tore across the blade like lightning bolts, reminding her of the marvelous sword, no doubt being carried by Arthur as he led his knights into battle.

Myra swiftly followed the slope of a little hill, bouncing so that the thick cord that tied the end of her braid fell from her hair. The plaiting came undone, and while Myra balanced on her feet, her long tresses tumbled about her neck and shoulders. Several strands stuck to her damp skin, while others were tossed about her face by the open breeze. Her eyes shone like her sword.

She looked like a hard, gritty warrior. The true guardian of a true king.

Through the mask of her wild hair, Myra saw two huge waves of men surging across the grass. Their battle cries took away all other sounds and sights, about to explode together in war.

Myra clenched her teeth, folding her lips in concentration. Sweeping ribbons of magic twisted around her, feeling like little snippets of hellish force, like knives. Myra smiled, knowing the faculty of her powers.

She was ready.

At the height of the battle cries, she leapt from the hill, looking like a sweeping wave of blood in her cloak while it blew behind her. Her hair was swept off her shoulders with her speed, her feet moving so fast, it was as though she were flying without wings.

And then, she tossed herself into the fray of chainmail and savagery.

It was brutal. Everywhere she tried to turn, someone was swinging their sword, or hefting a great spear. Not for one second was a part of her standing still in the fighting, so it was hard to make her first move. She could recognize the armies quite easily, noticing the dark, heavy blue of the opposing men on Mordred's side, and also the jubilantly bright red of Arthur's men.

Through the flashes of red and blue, Myra struggled for a proper fight. Everyone was moving in different directions, and no one seemed to notice that she had arrived in the middle of it all. But she slowly found she was glad to not have been rushed into a fight. It was important for her to find Mordred first.

She flung her eyes around the battlefield in search of an albino face, white hair, and the piercing blue eyes, above the silver helmets and raised shields. It was easier said than done, of course, while everything shone silvery white in the minimal sunlight. Maybe if she saw a great blue cape, or a crown…

As Myra pulled herself around, she came face-to-face with a burly man in a helmet with a low nose guard. She saw the sharp shine of green in the man's eyes, and she gasped.

"Gawain!" she yelled, feeling a jab of excitement and fright at seeing her knight friend's face again.

"Princess!" Gawain shouted. "Look out behind ye!"

Myra whirled around in time to see a blue-uniformed man swinging his blade. Myra deflected it with her magic-covered sword, and her enemy's blade was cut cleanly in half with a single blow. And while he was recovering from the shock of it, Myra flung her sword across the man's neck, sending his head to the ground.

"Wha' was that?" cried Gawain, pointing hurriedly at Myra's sword while he fought off another man's blows.

Myra gave a second's glance to her sword. It was still shining in light and color, like a borealis, now blazing a dark red with blood. Gawain never seemed to look away from it, and Myra quickly realized that there was no point explaining the phenomenon to him.

Instead, she ran in the opposite direction, madly driving her way through the fighters. Her cloak spread around, catching grass blades and mud in the meantime, some stray blades tearing at her clothes. She winced while one of the swords penetrated her skin, but she drove on anyway. Her heart was swelling, her fighting senses heightened like never before.

In spite of her tattered appearance, Myra was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Not one soldier managed to get past her sword, still protected by her magic. By the time she had to slow down, her weapon was dripping, staining the grass red, and her hands were white-hot with the power circulating through her. She heaved great breaths, exhausted, and unsure where to go.

She flared back up fast when a mob of men in blue uniforms charged towards her, bearing their weapons, their mouths open in yells. There was no time for Myra to gather herself, but she still managed to parry her attacks with swings of sharp magic- the same kind that felt like knives. Ribbons of red decorated the men's skin when she gave them that attack, though they didn't give up until Myra resorted to using her powerful sword.

In the end, the grass was colored entirely red, and Myra stood in the middle of it, gulping in air. The soles of her boots were soaked through, squelching loudly while she moved back into the fighting. She shoved aside her cape, and prepared to attack the first trace of blue she saw.

Instead, she saw Tristram, his own uniform splattered with the gore of war.

"Princess Myra!" he shouted. "No! You must get out of here! This is no place for a princess!"

"And yet this is a place for Arthur and all of his knights to die?" Myra answered. "No! I won't let anything happen to him, or to any of you!"

Using her anger as power, Myra plunged her fist behind her, meeting the blue-clothes man with such force, she had to draw back in recovery of the pain that rang between her knuckles.

And then she felt the force of something smacking her cheek, sucking the air out of her lungs, and the fight from her limbs. With a scream, Myra fell backwards, while her mind shouted at her to get back up and grab for her sword. It was only an instant, but Myra grappled for her weapon before she hit the ground, holding it when she went cheek-first into the grass.

"I'm going to enjoy this, Your Highness." A slithery voice stung in Myra's ear, and she pulled in more air while she painfully turned her head to face her enemy, with his cloudy hair and razor-sharp gaze. But she didn't get up, as he hefted his huge sword for the ending blow.

Instead, she grunted out a hushed spell, aiming her finger directly at Mordred's tender gut.

A straight-line zap of magic struck Mordred right there, though his reaction matched Myra's. They both threw themselves at one another, swords aimed high, ready for the kill. But Mordred's sword met Myra's before she could recharge it, so his blade didn't snap as the other soldiers' had.

"Who do you think you are?" Myra yelled at Mordred, continuously striking at him.

"Why do you always ask such rhetorical questions?" Mordred retorted. "It is my rightful place as king to do away with traitors and naughty children like you."

"How dare you call the king's guardian a child!" Myra said, swaying her blade.

"How can the king ever have an immature doxy for a guardian?" Mordred wanted to know.

Myra had no answer for that. Instead, she faced Mordred dead-on, and forced her energy back into sword-fighting.

Finally, she said: "I cannot believe that all along, you were using my magic to your own wretched gains. Using me against my very best friend. And your king!"

Mordred laughed. "Everything is Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Although then again, it ought to be, you, you, you."

"What are you saying?" asked Myra.

Mordred shook his head and guffawed obnoxiously. "Has your head gotten too big for your shoulders, or is it just me?" he said. "His ex-bride-to-be and his pudding-brained knight had to be gone, but through your hands, did they _really_ disappear. And I'm not so sure you recognize your treachery in bringing me in to kill Arthur. You cannot stop everything, Princess, and you cannot protect him!"

Myra slammed her sword against Mordred's. "I could never let Arthur down like that! And I know now that it was selfish of me to want Guinevere and Lancelot to be gone just so I could keep my friendship with Arthur. All right, you happy now?"

"Not until you tell your king to surrender, or prepare to end his life."

"Who's the _blind_ one now?" Myra lunged at Mordred, aiming for his gut with the point of her sword. He deflected her blow quickly, and she felt his blade start to lift to throw her off. With a swirl of her cloak, Myra pulled out of the tangle, readjusting her sword in her hand. She was ready, though. Mordred came after her, and she flicked her sword into the air, catching Mordred at sword-tip, and swinging it loosely back behind him. He stumbled shortly, and Myra went for her chance. Still, Mordred proved fast once more, his own blade scraping at Myra's.

"I commend you for fighting me as you are," Mordred said. "Not bad…for a jealous seductress."

"For just doing what I thought was right?"

"Don't forget that I know you, Princess- enough to know that you and your mother, Morgan, are not exactly two peas in a pod. She was young once like you, and she believed that she could have love by means of lies about true protection. Look at where she is- a washed-up wench who has nothing left but grief, and hatred for you, and everything that Arthur has done." He paused. "You'd be wrong in denying that you are no different than her."

Myra's skin turned cold. She felt her heartbeat pound with agitation, not believing that Mordred would just give her more reason to play executioner and whop off his head. Of course, she remembered Morgan had tried to do away with Myra and Arthur once before, but Myra couldn't bring herself to care so much about that anymore, because Morgan wasn't a factor in this battle.

Although, thanks to Morgan, she had the increased power needed to stop her enemy.

Myra amplified the magic in her hand, feeling the hilt of her sword heat up. Several more times, she crossed blades with Mordred, watching the sparks fly while he fought to crush the power of her sword. He looked at her over the tops of their crossed weapons, his jaw clenched and his eyes piercingly bright, though Myra wasn't afraid.

His eyes were the last thing she noticed, before something—someone- bumped her from behind, and she fell out of sync with her fighting. Myra tumbled over the body on the ground, coming away from Mordred, who got lost in the tussle of battles around them.

Myra forced herself to get back up amidst the duels, clasping her sword again. Though once more, she had to strain to see the head of snowy hair among the twirling fights. And since she couldn't stay still long enough to catch such a glimpse, she just ran.

Tearing through the crowd, she thrust her weapon through an indefinite number of men, her tattered cloak tumbling over the grass in her wake.

Then she saw, caught in a fast-paced bout on a little hill above the battling, the hefty blade of the marvelous sword. It flashed with light, and the brighter it shone, the more Arthur's opponent cowered away. Finally, he gave a great shove to the man's lowly blade, and he was shoved off the hill in a shower of fireworks and light. Arthur stood victorious, heaving breaths.

"Arthur!" The word was out of Myra's before she could think to stop herself, but she rushed quickly between the fights, still slashing away at any dark-clothed man she met. Arthur never looked at her.

When Myra came to the base of the hill, she paused to observe her friend. She wished that she could stand beside him up there, but chances were, he would run her through for disobeying his orders. And then he would have her brought back to be screamed at some more.

Myra felt the sour presence of someone behind her and, without thinking twice, brought her sword through the man's shoulders, slicing him to his death before she could look back to Arthur, who had found himself a new fight to put up.

Bravely, she decided to take aim with her magic sword. A ray of white-hot energy shot between the fighters and knocked Arthur's opponent off the hill, clutching his gut in pain. Arthur relaxed his sword, taking a second guess as to what he saw, and then turned cautiously around.

Myra inched along the bottom of the hill, keeping out of Arthur's sight. She felt an instant chill in her blood when she was met with a pair of almost-inhuman eyes and a wicked grin.

He swung his blade. Myra cried out and thrust up her own sword, clumsily deflecting Mordred's blow. His blade bounced off of her magic weapon, but still prepared to take another try at killing the princess.

Until someone leapt from up above, and knocked him to the ground with a powerful grunt. The wide blade of a powerful-looking sword pointed at Mordred, who was stirring in pain.

"Stay away from her!" Arthur's voice carried tremendously, enough that Mordred actually shuddered while flat on his stomach.

Slowly, painfully, Mordred turned his head, violently spitting out grass and mud at Arthur's feet. "Then let me get up and fight, Majesty!" he shouted.

"Arthur, don't do it!" Myra said, rushing to her friend.

Arthur brushed her away, never meeting her eyes. "I'll have my talk with you later," he said. And with that, he took his sword away from Mordred's face.

Mordred got up, making a grab for his own sword, and facing Arthur as gleefully as a spider to a helpless fly.

"Enjoy this little piece of playtime, Your Majesty," Mordred said.

"Oh, then, why don't you stop lollygagging and do something," Arthur challenged.

"With pleasure."

Mordred jabbed at Arthur. The moment he did, the blade of Arthur's sword flared with magic power, leaving a large scar in Mordred's own sword, though it didn't crack in half.

Myra stepped against the hill, watching her best friend clang blades with his bitterest enemy. Indeed Arthur's mighty sword was like a wide line of fireworks, and Mordred continued to strike against it. His forehead glimmered with perspiration, his limbs shaking, while he tried to best the divine power of the marvelous sword. Arthur, on the other hand, was blocking Mordred at every turn, barely taking a step, hardly breaking a sweat. Myra breathed a sigh of relief.

"I admit that, when I chose to battle you, my king, I did not expect to match the power of magic in you too," Mordred said, a little breathlessly.

"It seems only natural, doesn't it," said Arthur simply, "that we should fight at some point?"

"Yes, but not me against a magic sword," Mordred corrected harshly. He spit at the ground in between shots. "You may have such an artifact, and a magical whelp of a girl, on your side, but you aren't as pure as everyone says."

"All right, well…you've made your claim, now be quiet and let's finish this fight," said Arthur firmly.

"There. There it is!" said Mordred. "You think you can brush me off because I am not you. Well…then again…I suppose that is because you forgot what you did so many years ago."

Arthur didn't have a response to that. He only stared at Mordred with a genuinely lost expression. So did Myra.

"Well, let's begin easy. Do you know who I am?"

Arthur breathed to answer, but he stopped himself, and returned to the same lost face.

Mordred caught Arthur's blade, and pulled so that their blades were crossed, and Mordred had pinned both of them to the ground.

"I am your son," Mordred whispered.

In that instant, all the air left in both Myra and Arthur's lungs was sucked out. Arthur nearly dropped his sword. Myra dropped her jaw, almost pissing her pants with the chill that shattered her.

_I am your son._

_ I am your son._

_ I am your son_.

_You 'member Mordred? He is th' fifth brother of Orkney. But he is a- dare I say it- bastard son of m' mother, and another man._

It was all suddenly clear. Myra gasped out in a choked whisper, draining the air from her lungs.

"You committed incest with my mother!" Mordred said angrily, lunging savagely once he had unpinned their blades from the grass. Arthur deflected successfully, but Mordred's eyes burned with vengeance. "You cursed her to live with the burden of a bastard child! Look at me! It is all because of your unbridled, unclean lust that I came to be—but will soon have the blood of the great King Arthur—my father- to treasure!"

Myra shook her head. She knew Arthur, and she knew Morgause—enough that she was more likely to bring the king to bed, than he would to her. There had to have been a mistake.

But that meant something else. If her aunt Morgause was the one who had slept with Arthur, and had conceived of Mordred, then she would have to be stopped. Killed even, so that none of this would ever happen.

Just as Myra felt the realization overtake her, she saw Mordred raise his sword with both hands. Arthur grasped his great blade, hefting it over his head so that the hilt was just inches from Mordred's tender scalp…

_The journey of a lover, who wishes to turn back the clock for their significant other, means a possible sacrifice. _

Myra felt the words from the book flow through her, and she could only stand still. The weapons were raised higher now…

_One must be willing to do anything. Only then, at the moment of truth, can the Time Equinox be completed, and the journey ended._

She knew what she had to do. Now, with a burst of emotion from the bowels of her heart driving her, Myra found herself beside Mordred and Arthur.

_The moment of truth…_

Mordred's blade was coming down, and Arthur was throwing his sword to the ground with a savage swiftness, aiming straight for his enemy.

_A possible sacrifice._

Time stopped, and she breathed: "I love you, Arthur."

An explosion of pain beyond comprehension shattered Myra's chest, while Mordred's blade penetrated her skin. Arthur's voice thundered in her ear, while, just in the nick of time, she watched the marvelous sword's heavy blade pound against Mordred's skull, drawing blood. He crumpled to the ground, while red soaked his head, and Arthur drew back his sword.

The world turned silvery for a moment, as Myra felt her life forces leaving her.

But then, why did the air smell like sulfur?

Before she blacked out, she saw puffs of smoke filling the space, and the sounds of battling dying away like Mordred not far from her.

This was it.


	34. Coming Home

**Chapter 34: Coming Home**

In the thick smoke, and dreadful smell of sulfur, Myra couldn't tell which ways were up or down. She had a strange sensation in her stomach, like she was being lifted by invisible hands. And although she felt like she was moving in so peculiar a way, she felt strangely calm, like she were about to fall asleep wherever she was floating.

While she let herself drift through the space, strong fingers intertwined themselves with hers. Myra clenched her eyes closed, instantly recognizing her invisible friend. And while she was still up on air, she reached for him, right next to her.

But before she could take hold, the sensation was done. The smoke cleared away fast, and the sulfur smell was blown out like a birthday candle. She felt a jolt in her body, like she had stirred sharply in her sleep, and Myra bumped hard against the ground. Cold stone brushed Myra's cheek, and she flashed her eyes open against her surprise.

Right next to her, Arthur was lying down, as if he was waking up from sleeping on the floor. He stirred uncomfortably, putting a hand to his forehead, and wincing shortly, while he hoisted himself to his feet.

Myra glanced around them. It was dark outside the large window nearby, with a full moon stationed among the stars. There was a table right by her head, and although it was relatively clean, she saw a few ingredients scattered across the floor, as though someone had been mixing an elixir.

She recognized the one lying closest to her: spearmint, by a spell book open on the floor. Everything suddenly came quickly back to her—the puff of smoke, the smell of sulfur, the vile full of potion…

Arthur turned around, and observed his surroundings keenly. His eyes stopped turning when he laid them on the marvelous sword, still propped against the corner. As if it were a poisonous weapon, he approached it tentatively, finally picking it up in his hands. The blade flared gently with magical light, filling the moonlit room with golden glow.

Myra saw the reflection in the blade—a mix of shock and complete excitement that made Arthur's face glow. He turned to look at Myra, and then his expression only seemed to shine tenfold.

Myra knew instantly that she had never seen anything so beautiful. Without her knowing it, she smiled at her friend, feeling the rhythm of her heart, soaring higher the longer she looked at him.

She didn't know that he was thinking the same thing.

It was hitting her all at once—that she was back in the library, the same night that she had left on her grand odyssey through time, and most of all, that she had defeated the obstacle that would take her best friend away from her forever.

There was only one way to celebrate it.

She ran, and ran. Right into Arthur's arms.

She squeezed her arms around his neck, breathing in the scent of him. His clothes were covered with blood, and his hair was full of grass and mud, but in spite of that, Myra had never known anyone so godly in her life. She closed her eyes, losing herself once more, as Arthur's arms closed around her waist. It wasn't erotic, as it was heartwarming.

But then Myra gasped, crying out softly, while Arthur picked her up, and spun her in a circle. It felt so good that Myra just let go, and laughed. She flung out her arms, pretending for a moment that she was flying, while Arthur laughed along with her. Finally, they both stopped and fell to the floor again, tumbling like little children, though they didn't think of it like that. It just felt like they were celebrating a victory, laughing and letting go of every terrible thing they had ever experienced.

To Myra and Arthur, nothing had ever felt so good.

Arthur held Myra close to him like a child holds a doll, rubbing his fingers back and forth across her skin. The movements were short, but they thrilled Myra greatly.

"What…are we doing?" Myra asked in an airy voice.

"What does it matter?" Arthur replied. "We're back home. Myra…I…I don't really believe it. Was…was that battle, and Mordred, the whole reason why you so desperately had to go back?"

Myra let herself fall again into Arthur's arms, but she knew that playtime had to be over. "Come take a walk with me, and I'll show you."

…..

In spite of the chilled summer air, Myra and Arthur hadn't a care, walking amidst the chirping crickets and croaking frogs. The grass was moist and soft, while they walked across their favorite hill, high above the river.

Myra talked and gestured, and Arthur listened attentively, though he had to stop when Myra explained the vision, which by now felt like a millennia ago. She shuddered to be talking about it, but she felt more relaxed the longer she talked about her past struggles, and the secrets she kept from Arthur. By the time she was finished, she felt light enough that she was afraid of floating away into the night.

Arthur shook his head, chuckling softly. "Myra," was all he could say.

"What is it?" said Myra, stopping to face her friend.

Arthur was silent for a time, before he reached out his arm, and wrapped it around Myra's shoulders. With his other, he grasped Myra's fingers. He gently fixed his eyes on her.

"Would you be willing to carry out a thousand of these rescue missions for the rest of your life," he asked, "all in my name?"

Myra laughed. "In case it slipped, Arthur, I would give my life, like I did—kind of—in the battle, if it meant extending your days a little more." She held up her free hand. "Never were truer words spoken from my mouth. Even when I draw my very last breath trying to save you from the next Mordred."

It was silent, before Myra hugged Arthur tightly, and looked out over the landscape. They stood that way for a long time, before slowly, the sun began to peek at the horizon, and the last hard fires in their hearts, leftover from the fighting, died out into sleepiness.

…

Merlin found them both the next morning sound asleep down by the river's edge. A gleeful, five-year-old Tabitha scampered after him, tugging on Merlin's robes while he carried Myra and Arthur back inside.

The day dawned bright, and there was once more, that feeling of contentment and excitement between everyone in the castle. Even so, Myra and Arthur weren't around to see it. They were behind the closed doors of their bedchambers, fast asleep. In the meantime, Merlin paced around in the hall by their doors, impatiently observing the sun while it rose. Lessons were supposed to have started a while ago, and yet, his pupils were asleep as though it were midnight, not midmorning. He muttered strange words to himself, which made Tabitha laugh as she played on the floor with a weathered-looking doll.

At long last, Arthur emerged from his room, pulling his robes around himself. He certainly looked regal, though Merlin noticed he was moving slowly, and inhaling deep, deep yawns.

"Pleasant dreams, Majesty?" Merlin inquired gently, putting his hands behind his back and bowing.

"Oh?" Arthur started. "Oh, just fine, thank you Merlin." But then, he stopped and gasped, gaping wide-eyed at his wizard tutor like he was a ghost. "Merlin? Is that really you?"

Merlin stepped back, shocked. "Why, yes, it's me, Your—"

Arthur stretched his arms, and pulled Merlin in for a hug. "It's so good to see you, Merlin!" he said. "Have you been doing all right?"

"Well, considering the blatant fact that I've been pacing the halls wondering what in the world has made my pupils so sleepy…" said Merlin. "I've…been perfectly all right."

"Good!" Arthur said, just as Merlin also reached out to embrace his king like a son.

….

Myra rose from her bed at the same time that Arthur and Merlin had left the hall to go to breakfast. It took her several moments to remember, as she went out into the hall, that she didn't have to look out for Guinevere locking lips with Lancelot, or the leery-eyed gaze of Mordred. It felt now that they had never existed, and that she had never met them. She smiled all the way to her ears, almost putting a bounce in her step while she walked down the stairs.

Tabitha's laugh brought her to the dining hall quickly, and Myra picked up her little sister the moment she saw her. The tiny girl screamed with her laughter, flailing her arms while Myra held her like a precious jewel. Merlin and Arthur looked on respectively with confusion, and a sweet grin that foreshadowed chuckles.

"I can't believe it! Tab…I can actually pick you up again!" Myra said, laughing, as her sister hugged her back. Here and now, Myra felt more at home than she had in a long while. She grinned at Merlin but, upon realizing that he was there, dragged Tabitha with her to greet him.

"Merlin!" she exclaimed loudly, as she pulled both Merlin and Tabitha in for a huge embrace. Myra squeezed Merlin's robes in her fists, holding him like he was a long-lost father who had returned from a deathly crusade. Her disbelief made her squeeze even harder, not wanting for a moment to leave the people that she thought she would lose for good.

Merlin hesitated, but he soon held Myra just as close, half-chuckling. "Top of the morning to you as well, Myra," he said, tapping her affectionately. "Why…why such happiness this morning?"

"If we told you, you wouldn't stay around long enough to hear everything," Myra said.

"Well, anything to explain these storming hormones would be good enough for me," Merlin said, although Myra and Arthur didn't know what on earth he meant.

The group sat down, and between humongous mouthfuls of syrup and strudel, Myra and Arthur took turns telling their story. Merlin was just as attentive as Arthur had been, though he had to take time to readjust his spectacles, and clear his throat in wake of what he was told. Tabitha listened too, although she didn't look quite like she wanted to take note of what she was hearing.

In the end, Merlin sat back, gazing back and forth between Arthur and Myra. He had his lips fixed in a straight line, his eyes withholding any indication of what he was thinking. Myra sucked in a breath, as did Arthur.

"I knew it!" Merlin finally exclaimed, throwing up his arms, and starting to form a smile on his face. "I knew it!"

Myra and Arthur jumped back.

"Now, who's excited?" Myra said with a nervous chuckle.

"Myra…" Merlin began, looking right at her with his wide eyes. "At last, we all know what it is you have been hiding. And, frankly, I still cannot seem to believe all that you have done! All without me ever guessing what it was…!"

Myra swallowed. "You don't mean I'm in trouble, do you?"

Merlin reached across the table, and took Myra's hands. He shivered a little, grasping Myra's cold fingers.

"The only trouble around here, Myra, is how dumbfounded your deeds have made me," Merlin replied in a low voice. "Defying the rules, interfering with the continuum of time, throwing yourself into a deathly struggle that could have cost the lives of thousands of people…and yet…you manage to bring yourself, and Arthur, home in one piece!" He clasped her hands tighter. "That, in itself, is something to be proud of."

"Although I was being a reckless, selfish cretin by toying with such a huge fate, and putting everyone I know and care about in peril?" Myra guessed.

"Well, of course, that is true," said Merlin, "but you've learned a big lesson, haven't you? And that you know better about the cost of your actions?"

Myra nodded gently.

Merlin returned the nod, grinning at her. "It's fantastic what kinds of things we learn from the smallest things, isn't it?" he said.

Myra smiled discreetly, and when she flicked her eyes to Arthur, he had the very same expression.

…..

In the next few weeks, summer faded away to fall. And in that time, Myra was more than happy to practice with Arthur, and get back into their normal lives again. Merlin didn't bother them with more questions about their adventure, and Myra was glad for that. Since she now knew what was to come, she felt she didn't need to reflect on things anymore. It wasn't like she wanted to anyway. It felt too wonderful to be practicing the ways of the old days.

Well, now that she _was_ back in the old days…

Although it was back to lessons and listening to Tabitha's ever constant chatter, Myra felt she needed a break from everything she had been through. She daydreamed when Merlin read aloud, and laughed when she and Arthur practiced, completely ignoring Merlin's should-I-be-putting-this-girl-out-of-her-stupor look. She literally felt all other cares fade away when she unleashed her magic onto Arthur's sword, reveling in the routine of it all.

Finally, one night, when just a month had passed since their return, Myra and Arthur sat together on the hill. For a fall night, the air was still, as all the bugs had gone away with the summer. Still, the moon was just starting to rise, and stars started to sparkle.

Myra lay back in the grass, tensing against the cold blades, though she barely noticed after some seconds. She sighed, closing her eyes contentedly.

"I can't believe it, either," Arthur said from beside her.

Myra opened her eyes, and sat up on her elbows. "What?" she said automatically.

Arthur snorted softly, leaning down to Myra's level. "Has all your magic-blasting taken the brain out of you?" he asked. "It's been just over a month since we came back."

"I'm shocked that you would remember that," Myra remarked. "You weren't the one who was watching your best friend's back every second looking for danger."

Arthur gave her a look. "It's funny that you should remember now."

"'Cause I just did, since you brought it up. Did you honestly think I would reflect over what we went through every moment of our lives?"

"I know you, Myra. You have the mind of a keen-sensed warrior. Strategy and planning is part of everything you do. Why stop now?"

"Are you asking me to reflect on everything again?"

Arthur shook his head, and lay down in the same position as Myra. "As I said, Myra, I know you. I don't want to lose you as much as you don't want to lose me." He touched his hand to hers. "The point is, don't ever change who you are. Don't feel bad about what you put us through, because, now that I think about it, I'm very glad I came with you."

Myra peered curiously at her friend, like there was some strange specimen on his face. "You mean it?"

"Every word," he answered. "But no, it's not because I saw that I would be betrayed by my bride-to-be, the greatest knight who ever lived, and half of the Round Table. It's because of you."

Myra's heart choked in her chest. "W-What?" she stammered.

"Do you realize how long you were keeping your vision a secret from all of us?" Arthur wanted to know. "Back when we first battled Morgan, Merlin asked you about it. But you refused to tell him, or me. Now, I actually understand what it was all about, and also, what other secrets you were hiding. Like how much your devotion to this kingdom has grown over the years."

Myra hesitated to speak again. Arthur was looking down on her, and the way he was bringing everything to the light again choked her up. It was true. She had been keeping a lot of secrets from him for a long time, but now they were gone. He knew how his life might pan out, how he might die.

He knew how she felt about him.

"You know," Myra finally piped up. "It's not just my devotion to this kingdom that you've seen, Arthur. It's my devotion to my family—my devotion to _you_."

Arthur grinned knowingly. "I knew that."

Myra opened her mouth to scold Arthur for not just cutting to the chase, but the way he spoke to her made her stop. No—the way he was looking at her made her stop. Her fingers, still touching Arthur's, were starting to tremble, and her breath was short to come. But she found she had enough willpower to clench her fingers around Arthur's hand, pulling it close to her.

She felt suddenly that she couldn't stop moving, so she wound up pulling Arthur's hand to her shoulder. Then, in a swing of controlled energy, Myra pulled herself across the grass, and into Arthur's arms. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad that she hadn't rushed into anything stupid.

But she loved him. And she wanted to let him know again.

She felt his shoulder brush her face. And then, with her eyes closed, Myra aimed her lips for the soft skin of his neck. Her muscles turned to ice when she kissed him, but she didn't shiver. She didn't have to, for Arthur had grasped her to him like a sweet-smelling, tender flower.

Nothing else mattered. And Myra knew nothing ever would again, as long as she could keep Arthur within reach for the rest of her life. As long as she never kept any more secrets, and honored her king as she did his kingdom.

Myra remembered what she had told Arthur in the days following their epic battle with Morgan.

"_Merlin said that the future isn't set in stone, but it can still be changed. I think you'll make one of the most marvelous kings the world will ever know. And I'll be right there, through thick and thin, no matter what will happen."_

_ "To the very end?" Arthur added._

_ "That's right," Myra said, as the sun finally dipped below the rolling hills. "To the very, very end." _


	35. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Ravenously, Myra took a baguette from the basket near her plate. She was ready to mash it right between her lips and swallow it whole, she was so hungry. Although, she caught Merlin giving her a wary grin, and she daintily put it on her plate, tearing off a piece to put into her mouth. Merlin nodded approvingly.

Tabitha, who sat beside Merlin, followed her sister's movements almost precisely, picking up the bread like it were a tiny fern. Some crumbs caught onto her lips, and she swiped her napkin across them, though careful not to smudge the face powder.

Myra looked at Tabitha. How the years had changed her, for now, her golden-brown hair was piled atop her head in a peculiar kind of twist, stray locks of hair almost hiding the jewels clipped into it. She wore a dress that prominently displayed her chest, and the brand new necklace that gleamed against her bright skin. Myra could even spot some growing breasts beneath the fine silk dress.

But then, Tabitha sighed, dropping her hands.

"Tabitha," Merlin acknowledged her. "What is it that's turned that smile the wrong way?"

"I've been thinking," she said, her voice still that small, high-pitched birdsong. "And I wonder how I can…do something…"

"Oh?" Merlin said, giving her a semi-knowing smile. "Well, surely, Tabitha, it's nothing we can't help you with. What's the trouble?"

Tabitha was about to speak, but then she started to turn a bright shade of pink.

"I saw a boy in the village when I was outside on my horse," she said in almost a whisper. "And I…I think…"

Myra put her hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. But Tabitha already turned her eyes on her sister.

"Don't laugh at me like that, Myra!" she scolded, slapping her hands on the table.

"I'm not laughing," Myra protested.

"She just means she knows what you're thinking about," said Arthur gently.

Myra looked at the king. The dimples in his cheeks deepened suddenly, and she tried to keep from grinning like a dummy, as she tended to do around him.

Arthur looked the image of a king—well, what was so different about that?—with growing curls of blonde hair that framed his youthful, bright face, and robes of glistening colors draping over him. His blue eyes still retained their gleam, amid the creases that barely showed on his skin.

He reached up and readjusted his crown, although it wasn't really falling off of his head—like it did several years ago when he was a child.

Myra laughed before she could stop herself, though Arthur didn't give her a strange look in return.

"Ten years haven't changed you very much," Arthur observed.

"Unless you're wearing a blue silk dress, have brownish gold hair, and have a sweet inkling for some village commoner," Myra playfully said.

"He is not a commoner!" Tabitha exclaimed, getting up from the table so quickly that her dishes rattled precariously. But when everyone at the table looked at her, she froze, turning bright pink again.

"Stop that, Myra!" Merlin said, as he fixed her with a hard look.

"Don't worry, Merlin," she said, holding up her hands in defense. Then she looked at Tabitha. "Tell you what, Tabitha. Since apparently you think this young man should be a part of your life, what would you say to taking a ride into the village tomorrow, and meeting him?"

Tabitha's face turned a strawberry red, and she slipped into her chair a little more. "Would you come with me?" she squeaked.

"Absolutely," said Myra with a nod.

Tabitha squealed again, and everyone at the table couldn't help but chuckle.

…..

Late that night, Myra slipped behind her changing screen, and tossed her gown over the top edge, pulling on her nightclothes. She was content afterwards to blow out her candle, and begin to dream of more days with Arthur in his kingdom of Camelot.

She took a breath to blow. But then, she heard a noise.

Myra pulled her breath back in, not moving, as she strained to hear an accompanying sound. Still the castle remained silent.

She looked to her door, picturing the outside hall. Long minutes passed before she decided to lie back down—until a loud _creeaak _bounced into her ears.

Myra's muscles tensed, her fighting instincts kicking in. And climbing from her bed, she moved to put her hand on the knob, as she assessed the situation. She retraced the sound in her mind, remembering it coming from down the left hall, by Arthur's bedchamber.

It took most of Myra's willpower to not throw open the door in a blind crash. Rather she gently stepped outside, and didn't light her magic to see her way. She just started to walk, listening once again.

But then, etched into the shadows, Myra noticed something moving. It looked like ink against the dark, moving fluidly and gracefully, though Myra could be sure that whatever it is wasn't quite benign. She stopped moving, putting herself against the wall so as not to be seen.

But then, the shadow vanished completely, having ducked into the wall as Myra had. She blinked twice to readjust her sight, but cautiously moved away to follow the shadow, a sense of dread growing within her, as she reached that spot along the hall.

It was as she suspected. The shadow hadn't plastered itself to the wall. Rather it had vanished behind a door—a door that had a huge, ornate "A" engraved into the wood.

Instinctively, Myra gasped, putting her hands against the door. She didn't wait for a sound to invite her in, instead turning the knob and opening the door as snail's pace.

From behind the door she was startled to hear a groan. Only it wasn't a _normal _groan. It was low, airy—erotic, almost. As if…

As if…

Myra pushed her head into the room, and what she saw made her hair stand like grass on her skin. A woman, with long, raven-black hair, and a delicate, slim figure, was standing beside Arthur's bed. The moonlight coming through Arthur's window illuminated the woman, as she stood up, and started to play with the bodice of her dark dress.

Finally, she pulled at a string on her dress, and her arms started to slip out of the sleeves, the dress falling to reveal her bare back, then her buttocks, and her long, snowy white legs.

"My dear," she said in a slithery, voluptuous voice, reaching out a talon-like finger towards Arthur's head. Her nails brushed his hair, and she started to climb into the bed.

The moment she turned to lay down, Myra recognized the woman.

"_Morgause_!" she cried, remembering in that instant who was about to be conceived in Arthur's bed.

Before Morgause could react, Myra fired a ray of bright silver light at her, stunning her for just moments. It was enough time for Myra to lunge at her aunt, wrestling her off the bed. They tumbled across the floor, bumping into the wall, knocking the air out of Morgause.

There was no mercy in Myra's mind. Her magic was in control, while she grappled against Morgause. The witch didn't have the time to cast a spell against her niece, but she was still strong, matching Myra's. She grunted, snarling, while she moved to push Myra off of her.

Myra yelled out some words, and suddenly, Morgause screamed, as the place where Myra gripped her skin burned with heat. It smoked, the pain giving Morgause a rapid boost of strength, and she tossed Myra off.

Myra quickly rebounded, and leapt for her aunt like a tiger, with poisonous magic at her fingertips. The moment that Morgause was going to counterattack, Myra swung her leg upright, knocking Morgause squarely in her jaw. Myra felt her aunt's teeth cracking, blood being drawn, and when she flung her powered fist into the stomach of her aunt, a trilling scream was all she heard.

When Myra came back to the floor, she kept her stance steady, ready for more. Morgause breathed hard, choking out gasps. Blood trickled from her teeth, her hands shaking as they held her walloped stomach. Her dress was smoldering off, showing a dark blue-and-red mark starting to form over her navel.

Myra heard Arthur's bed creak, just as Morgause's eyes closed.

They never once fluttered, as Myra was sure that the mark—just over her empty womb—might not soon heal.


End file.
